


High Tide (Under These Waters I Drown)

by Pride_Before_The_Fall, PridesFolly (Pride_Before_The_Fall)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Ashley who's real name is Ashlynn, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Author likes comments, Awkwardness, Derek Hale is Not a Failwolf, Don't Like Don't Read, Dorks in-love, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, Lisa who was once a Liam, M/M, Main Character is sad, Minor Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Protective Scott, Romance, Scott McCall & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Scott is a Good Friend, Season 3a, Slow To Update, Spark Stiles Stilinski, season 3b, sorry about the formatting, the self-sabotage is real with this one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:19:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 22,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22077589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pride_Before_The_Fall/pseuds/Pride_Before_The_Fall, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pride_Before_The_Fall/pseuds/PridesFolly
Summary: "Don't stop, you hear me, you don't stop 'till you make it over state lines"Running, that's all Ash has known, from Washington state to Beacon Hills California, it's a never-ending trek."...find the Nemeton, you find that, you findsafety."The only thing keeping her going is a promise."I need you to be safe, promise me."__Find the Nemeton.That's all Ash had set out to do, find the Nemeton and hope could find safety among its far-reaching roots; after that, the rest was guesswork.Learning how to live again—however—was an added side benefit.__From the ashes of Washington state, to the small town of Beacon Hills, Ash never expected to make it this far.—and lying here, watching him study for their midterms, she can't help but be grateful that she did.
Relationships: Stiles Stilinski/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 36





	1. Prologue: The Tide is High, It's Sink or Swim

**AN: I’m so sorry about the long wait. I was getting overwhelmed with College and I just…forgot about this story? Anyway, I was going through the story and decided that I wanted to change it to Third-person? Mainly because I have a lot of little snippets that belong to this story, I just don’t know where they fit into it quite yet, and they all somehow ended up in the third person? …..I’m really sorry and thank you to any who followed and commented. It really means a lot to me.  
**   
**But, If you’re new and as far as you’re concerned, this story has always been in third-person; Welcome, I say to you! Don’t forget to inform me if there are any typos! I don’t get offended, so feel free to nicely correct me on anything that seems off to you, but remember, you’re entitled to an opinion, but I’m not entitled to agree with you.**

* * *

  
_“The tide is high it's sink or swim, my only rival is within.”_  
  
 _-Ruelle “Rival_ "

* * *

“ _Run!_ ”   
  
A long stretch of road lies barren of life. Cold morning fog lay in an undisturbed curtain upon the ground. Thereupon the horizon, a dark figure moves. Huddled and shaking, it keeps moving; backpack bobbing with every step.  
  
Long dark hair spills out from beneath an equally dark hood. Dirty sneakers trod on worn gravel, fog weaving around and about with every stride forward. The scraping sound of tired feet echoes as they shuffle along.  
  
The woman’s face remains tucked into her chest, eyes unseeing of anything but the next step ahead.  
  
She breathes out, the warm puff of white air the only sign of life on this road. Forward is the only way to go now; looking back brings nothing but grief and heart-wrenching terror.

Her family is gone, shot down like the animals, the hunters thought they were. She swallows harshly and continues walking; her legs burn in protest.  
  
 _“Don't stop, you hear me, you don’t stop ‘til you make it over state lines."_  
  
She’s been walking since Oregon, Oregon, where the last of her gas ran out. Oregon, where she left it about a mile outside Portland. Her head lifts at the small source of warmth she feels, and with it, a surge of energy.

The sun is rising.

She turns her gaze to the horizon. The sphere of golden yellow shines between the trees, and she watches as the sky changes colors. Fading from a dark, desolate, night sky, shades of blue and starry white; to hues of morning light cresting on the tops of old pines and large Firs, perhaps a good omen for the days to come. She reluctantly tears her gaze away from the new dawn sky.   
  
Another sunrise, another day living.   
  
She hasn't had a moment of rest since that night in the woods of Washington. Since that nightmare hidden in the ripples of reality.   
  
_Mom, Dad, Jane, and Allen. They're all gone._  
  
It's in these moments of lonely peace that her memories can almost break her. It's in these moments that she loses sight of why she’s running in the first place. It’s moments like this that make her wish for a family again.  
  
Her family.  
  
Her _clan_.  
  
 _“Do you understand?” Her mother looks at her desperately, but She’s too busy staring at the blood dripping from her mother’s head, like little rivets of crimson glistening in the dark of the harvest moon._  
  
 _“Ash!”_  
  
 _She snaps to attention as well as she could, but how can she when the woman who she always thought was invincible, is staring at her like it’s the last time they’re going to see each other; her mother’s hand raises to cup her face, thumb wiping under one of her eyes, exact replicas of the one who birthed her: a glowing spirit blue._  
  
 _“Ash, baby-girl, you need to listen to me,” wrinkled, cold, hands move to her face so that it's cradled in her mother’s palms. With the smell of rust heavy in the air, everything blurry through a sheen of tears. “You don't stop until you're out of Washington. Find the Nematon. You find that you find safety.” Her mother sniffs quietly as she speaks, face blotchy with tears of pain and heartache. “I need you to be safe, promise me.”_  
  
 _Ashlynn is shaking her head before her mother even finishes speaking, and by the end of it, her body begins to quake vehemently with the force of her refusal. Her mother, her beautiful mother, nods her head determinedly and says with force, “Yes, Ash, yes. I need to hear you promise me.” The sound of footsteps against the forest floor_ are _getting louder, the echoes of voices yelling, and barking orders are growing ever closer. Twigs snapping and branches breaking, if she listens hard enough, she can still hear the roaring of Grandfather Tree screaming as he’s burned down and the stench of burnt flesh stays engraved in her mind._

 _Her breathing hitches._  
  
 _“Promise me!” Her mother whispers harshly, her hands tightening around Ash's face in desperation._  
  
 _“I promise, Mom."_  
  
“I promise,” her words fade in and out, and break as they whisper through the wind, lost to the cold air drifting around her.  
  
With nowhere left to go but forward, she trudges on, her demons nipping at her heels.  
  
 _ **“Welcome to Beacon Hills"**_  
  
She's never broken a promise before.

* * *

  
_**“Kingdoms rise and kingdoms end, my only rival is within, this is where it all begins, my only rival is within.”** _

_**-Ruelle “Rival"**_

* * *


	2. If You Talk Enough Sense, Then You'll Lose Your Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mattress is firm underneath her, almost too hard, but it keeps her grounded in reality.
> 
> Her body lies there, in the center of the bed, curled up. Her black, dirty, oversized hoody still wrapped around itself on the floor. It's here, gathering what's left of her lingering sanity, that she has the mind to be thankful the bed was stripped down to only a mattress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All rights reserved to their respective creators and companies.
> 
> Terms to Know:  
> Moidon: The Moidon's name tells you exactly what it is. The word moi (森) means "forest," and the word don (殿) means "Lord." It is a title of honor bestowed upon grand and aged trees. In ancient Japan, long before there was any sort of organized religion, people believed that these magnificent trees were deities, and the land they inhabited was a sacred space. (Wikipedia)
> 
> Kodama: Kodama are spirits in Japanese folklore that inhabit trees, similar to the dryads of Greek mythology. The term is also used to denote a tree in which a Kodama supposedly resides. The phenomenon known as yamabiko, when sounds make a delayed echoing effect in mountains and valleys, is sometimes attributed to this kind of spirit, and may also be referred to as "Kodama." (Wikipedia) [Taking some creative liberties with this one] Echo is the exact translation for Kodama as used by the bullet train. The kanji is "谺," which is different from the tree spirit Kodama which uses "木霊" or "木魂." ( I just like the wordplay of 'Echo' and 'Tree Spirit' in Japanese.)

* * *

**_If You Talk Enough Sense, Then You'll Lose Your Mind_ **

* * *

_~.~_

_" And I'll use you as a warning sign_   
_that if you talk enough sense, then you'll lose your mind.  
_   
_And I'll use you as a focal point,_   
_So I don't lose sight of what I want."  
_   
_~.~  
_   
_-Amber Run, "I Found"_

* * *

_  
_"-and here are your keys," the landlord held out the keyring to the girl in front of him, a small pale hand reached out to grasp it.

When her fingers closed around the metal loop, his hand moved to close around her hand, palm covering her fist and jerked the dark-haired girl closer, "Do me a favor and try not to lose them in your first week, I'd hate to see you locked out sweetheart." He said, a smarmy smirk upon his greasy lips — all of his three hairs quivering as he tilts his head. Her hands twitched and she had to silence the vibrations beginning in form in her chest.  
  
 _Don't. He's not worth it._  
  
He released her slowly, one finger at a time, lifting away from pale skin like reluctant velcro. She could still feel his sweat upon the back of her hand, lying there like an unwanted stain on her person.  
When he finally left down the stairs, she was anything but heartbroken over his absence.  
 _I need a shower_ ; she shudders as she wipes the residue on her jeans. _Hopefully, he'll forget about me._ The key enters the lock with an accuracy and swiftness she didn't know she possessed.  
  
 **Click**  
  
Opening the door as quick as she could, uncaring of the warning creak the old door hinges gave, she hurried to close it.  
  
 _Apparently, sleazy people were everywhere, even somewhere as remote as Beacon Hills, California._  
  
As she turns around, staring at the empty space, she's struck with the realization that she's alone. In a new apartment, a foreign city, an entirely different state —alone. Here in this room, this place that she'll call home for an indefinite amount of time, here where there's no one to greet her. Here, where there's no one to say 'I'm Home!' to and no one to voice 'Welcome Back!'  
  
The keys become heavy in her hand, and her backpack falls from her shoulder and onto the floor with a muffled thump.  
  
Standing alone watching the dust motes float by and straining her ears for signs of life in a lifeless place, she has an epiphany that being alone is entirely different from the sensation of feeling alone. Here, it's just her and the sound of echoes dying.

The thought of taking a shower but a distant memory, her footsteps whisper against the ground, floating through the living room and past the kitchen like a morose prisoner heading for the gallows. She finally finds the bedroom at the end of the hall, at the back of the apartment. It's a small thing, barely enough space to walk around. There's a black dresser to the right of the door and a matching desk under the window on the opposite side of the room. Overall, lackluster and plain.  
  
 _The walls are pale and white: lifeless._  
  
The bed is anything but inviting, only a mattress standing solitary in the middle of the room, but her weary form sinks into it anyways. It's only Tuesday evening, and already she feels exhausted. Her enrollment forms have been finalized, and she begins her junior year after summer break comes to a close. As far as Beacon County is concerned, 17-year-old Ashley Quinn was an emancipated minor, come to attend high-school after her parents died in a car crash early last year.  
  
 _That's not my name._  
  
Her brows furrow as she thinks about the uncertainty clouding her future. It's a wonder she's gotten this far, but there is still more to do before safety finds her and before she finds _it_.  
  
 _The Nemeton is still out there._  
  
It's an on-going struggle to keep searching for a magical tree, a Moidon, ironic considering her family's occupation with them. Her throat clenches with the urge to hum, and her stomach turns as the smell of smoke becomes faint in the air.  
Wiggling about on the bed, she struggles to remove the offending jacket from her person.

She flops uselessly upon creaking springs as the muffled sound of her jacket falling, echoes in the room. The hint of smoke now missing, covered by the small dust cloud hanging around the dark fabric on the floor. Her mind drifts listlessly, floating in and out of differing thoughts and memories sleepily.  
  
Soft, odd, humming reverberates around the small white room, slowly gaining traction, before halting to a low murmur at the gaping absence of voices joining in.

* * *

 _Kodama  
_ _We're the echoes of the mountain forests_  
 _and the valley trees.  
_  
 _Kodama  
_ _We echo silent and free,_  
 _Loud and warm as can be._  
 _  
Kodama  
_ _Find your home and plant your seeds,_  
 _and don't ever leave.  
_  
 _Kodama_  
 _If they try to cut you out,_  
 _Curse them away_  
 _make 'em bleed  
_  
 _Kodama_  
 _And don't ever listen to what they have to say._  
 _We're here to stay  
_  
 _Kodama_  
 _We'll make you flee._

* * *

The melody flows lightly through her head and spirit, like a caress for her tore apart heart, leaving warmth and a melancholic feeling. The old song was one her mother would sing around the house; it was one everyone in the compound sang under their breath unthinkingly; morbid, but it was a song of her family, a song for her people. The very same people who are now just forgotten sounds drifting in the wind.  
  
 _Like echoes._  
  
She snorts quietly into the old mattress, the thought macabre in its entirety and all-around an inappropriate time to find amusement in, but she does nonetheless.  
  
 _Echoes, were where they were safe, echoes, were where they were strong, echoes…all that is left_.  
  
She chokes on her bitterness and humor, lumping in her throat like a trapped cry and a cracked, hysterical giggle.  
  
 _Not like there's any more of us here to offend, I'm the last in America._  
  
She sobers slowly from the dark humor, a jolt of pain stabbing her heart, a reminder of family unwelcome and unappealing to think about. Avoidance rising high like the tide in a tsunami.  
  
 _Tomorrow, I'll think about it tomorrow._   
  
It's the lie of the year, and it tastes like ashes on her tongue and of blood in her throat.  
  
 _Tomorrow. Today, I sleep._

* * *

_~.~  
_   
_"…And I moved further than I thought I could,  
_   
_but I missed you more than I thought I would."  
_   
_~.~  
_   
_-Amber Run "I found"_

* * *

Her sleep was riddled with torturous visages and scattered thoughts of death; her own or those of her family she can't quite remember, but it was horrid enough to make her wake gasping, a sinking feeling in her chest and numbness in her mind.  
  
The mattress is firm underneath her, almost too hard, but it keeps her grounded in reality.

Her body lies there, in the center of the bed, curled up. Her black, dirty, oversized hoody still wrapped around itself on the floor. It's here, gathering what's left of her lingering sanity, that she has the mind to be thankful the bed was stripped down to only a mattress.  
  
For she's still lying in the clothes she's worn for the past month. The same old dirty red shirt, the same old dirty black sneakers, and the same old ripped black jeans. It's challenging to muster up the will to move, let alone take a shower, but she does it somehow.

Walking back to the front of the apartment, she takes time to take in the details of the new home.

 _Home_ , she scoffs softly in her head, finding the idea of it ridiculous as she dries her hair with a moth-eaten towel, but looking around the space, it didn't seem as crappy as it was last night. Her ire slowly cools to one of a softer sort, something closer to a fragile kind of hope, almost too painful to feel, but one that would be too devastating to lose.  
  
 _Home_ , her heart muses, watching the morning light stream through large windows in the barren living room with new eyes. The early morning casting light in a place ' _Ashley_ ' thought would be bereft of.

* * *

_~.~  
_   
_"And I'll use you as a makeshift gauge_   
_Of how much to give and how much to take  
_   
_Ooh, I'll use you as a warning sign_   
_That if you talk enough sense, then you'll lose your mind."  
_   
_~.~  
_   
_-Amber Run, "I Found"_

* * *


	3. I Think I Could Love You, But I'm Not Sure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What are you here for?" Her attention snaps back to the Sheriff. Ash opens her mouth to speak, but David beats her to it.
> 
> "We're here because that guy over there broke my nose!"
> 
> "Ohh, so now I'm just 'some guy' to you? You weren't saying that last night choking on my—" Ash's eyes go wide as she chokes on her saliva, it feels like they've been doing that a lot today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All rights reserved to their respective creators and companies.

* * *

_~.~  
_   
_" I like that you're broken, broken like me_   
_Maybe that makes me a fool_   
_I like that you're lonely, lonely like me_   
_I could be lonely with you."  
_   
_~.~  
_   
_-lovelytheband, "Broken_

* * *

It's with the afternoon sun that Ash comes to the conclusion that she's slept the day away.  
  
Blinking at the sun in betrayal, Ash finds herself confused as to where she is, just for a moment. There's a patch of cold liquid stuck between her cheek and the mattress; it's drool.

 _That's attractive;_ she thinks sarcastically, a grimace finding its way onto her face as she tries to rub away the evidence. Sitting up, Ash gains some newly found clarity about her situation. Her shirt falling off her shoulder brings attention to the paint staining it. She wrinkles her nose in distaste, _and I slept in this? Was the paint…wet?_ Her brows furrow as she touches her fingertips to the wet spots before pulling away abruptly.  
  
 _No, not wet paint. Just, more drool._  
  
The cans of blue paint lying in the living room — empty— were to blame for the splatters, however. Spending the previous days cleaning up the apartment and repainting the walls had, interestingly enough, helped with her heartache. It felt like a new beginning.  
  
 _I need a shower, and maybe some paint remover?_ Ash's brows furrow in thought.  
  
 ** _BAM! CRASH! RRRIIIIIPPP~!_**  
  
Her head shoots up to stare at the ceiling. _What the hell is—_  
  
"I knew you were cheating on me, you useless bag of dicks!"  
  
 _Woah, shrill much?_  
  
The voice was not dissimilar to the sound of nails on a chalkboard, and it seems to have just gotten started.  
  
"Who is it?! I bet its Shaun the barista, you always ask for extra cold foam! It's some kind of code, isn't it!? 'My boyfriend is gone so I'm down to fu—' "  
  
 ** _CRACK! CRASH! SHATTER!_**  
  
 _Well, there goes a vase._ Ash watches bemused as a beautifully-colored-blur streaks past her window, and the sound of it shattering echoes in the concrete alley below. _Huh, what an exciting way to wake up_ , she muses, wondering if that's the end of the shouting.  
  
"That was a gift from my mother, you asshole!"  
  
 _I guess not._  
  
Ash groans as the yelling starts back up again, flopping back onto the bed she covers her face with a newly bought pillow and tries to suffocate herself.  
  
She would just like to say; it didn't work.  
  
"Stop cutting up my clothes, you crazy bitch! Why is it—"  
  
It was going to be a long day; she could already tell.  
  


* * *

 _~.~  
  
"I met you late_ _night at a party_  
 _Some trust fund baby's Brooklyn loft.  
_ _By the bathroom, you said let's talk,_  
 _But my confidence was wearing off."  
_  
 _~.~  
_  
 _-lovelytheband, "Broken."_

* * *

 _God, do they ever stop?_  
  
Washing the cheap conditioner from her hair, she can't help but listen to them bicker.  
  
"—you're crazy, Liam!"  
  
"Liam!? Did you just call me Liam?"  
  
Her eyes go wide with horror, _Oh shit, did he just use the wrong name?_  
  
"It's Lisa! My name is Lisa, LISA!"  
  
 _Lisa?_ She thinks in disbelief, _but isn't that a guy screaming?_  
  
"I'm not Liam anymore. It's _Lisa_!"  
  
 _ **Crack! Smash!**_  
  
Her body jumps at the sudden sound of things breaking on her ceiling. You'd think they'd just break up if all they do is fight all the time. She turns the water off and gets out.

"This is what I meant! Ever since you changed your name, it's like you're a different person, a crazy one!"

" _Crazy!_? You think I'm crazy? You haven't even seen _crazy_ , David!"  
  
Ash grimaced, _oh he's dead, for sure,_ she puts her hair up in a towel and starts rubbing lotion on her arms. _You don't call your S.O crazy when they're mad, it never really works out well for anyone_. Listening to the random bumps, thumps, and crashes coming from their apartment has been the new normal the past few days. Granted, this is the first time she's heard yelling. Moving around the bathroom, picking up dirty clothes from the floor as she goes. Ash heads to the bedroom, looking for her backpack. Moving around the bed, she suddenly trips over a hairbrush.  
  
"What the hell? I didn't even brush my hair yet." She whispers to herself, her face smooshed against the dirty carpet. She pulls her self up and hobbles around to the other side of the bed. Rubbing the red spot appearing on her calf, she sits down; her leg hit the bed frame in an attempt to prevent an embarrassing tumble to the floor (it didn't work).

Brightside, she found the backpack.  
  
It was lying a few feet away from that godforsaken hairbrush, tucked underneath the bed.  
  
Looking at it, you wouldn't think it held anything valuable; but trust her, this backpack was worth a lot more than it seemed. She unzips the front pocket and pulls out a small, delicate, jade pendant.  
Ash held it reverently as she would a newborn infant, and ran a fingertip softly along the barely-there seem until a quiet click echoed in the stillness of her bedroom.

Inside was something small and simplistic, no larger than a single grain of rice, but it stopped her heart nonetheless, and a delicate type of sadness washed over her.  
It was beautiful in its simplicity.  
  
It was a seed. It was _her_ seed. There, lying inside the jade pendent, was a seed from the Moidon in Washington.  
  
She placed the jade jewel around her neck and locked the clasp. It lay flat, cradled comfortably between twin collarbones.  
  
It glowed dimly and happily before it faded, and assumed its façade as a typical green gem once more. She placed her trembling hand ever so softly over the pendent, and it warmed against her skin and beat in time with her heart.

Turning back to the bag lying on the bed, she pulls out the last set of clean clothes she has left. Following the clothes' departure from the backpack, a tightly bound band of hundred-dollar bills fell from the depths of the battered sack.

You see, the priceless seed wasn't the only thing that made the battered backpack valuable. There lying at the very bottom of the bag were stacks of money squished down underneath the two changes of clothes Ash bought along her journey to California.  
  
When her mother told her to run that night, she didn't listen. Ash ran back to the Great Tree in hopes that it would help her.  
  
But—it was on fire when she arrived, hunters had poured gasoline on it and watched it burn. She found the cache of emergency money that night, staring at the burned-out husk of a once-mighty protector, standing in the wooden ashes of the one she used to call Great-Grandfather.  
  
 _Hunters are assholes, all of them_. She snorts tiredly at the thought, even now, three states away, Ash can't escape the memories of her family's massacre.  
  
 _ **Bam!**_  
  
Stomping on the ceiling and the harsh sound of a door slamming closed, broke her from her daze. _It looks like someone left mad_ , She thought as she stared at the ceiling light shake in its mount. It's going to be a busy day today.  
  
Ash turns back to getting dressed.  
  
She has job hunting to do and grocery shopping later tonight. Her savings won't last all her life, not with how expensive California is.  
  
She pulls on the new dark-blue hoody she hid in the deep recesses of the battered backpack. She just had to find the bus stop; Ash starts turning off the lights in preparation for her departure.

She had dressed in lighter tones today in hopes of being a more appealing prospective employee. A slim-fitting, light-blue long-sleeve covered her torso, and slate gray skinny jeans encased her legs. The lighter colors gave her lightly tanned skin the appearance of some much-needed life, and her dark, wavy hair offered a nice contrast to the softer hues surrounding her.  
  
Ash was grabbing a few, of the many, smaller bills that cashier gave her when she bought a bottle of water and pistachios with a hundred. _No use in carrying around a wad of Benjamin's_ , she thought to herself, _that's just asking to get jumped._

She moved towards the door, but not before she made sure all the windows were locked and the bag hidden. Opening the front door, she snatched her keys from the nail they were hanging on. Locking up was surprisingly satisfying. Despite all the sorrow that happened, Ash could still find it in her to be excited about owning her own apartment.  
  
The trek to the elevator was a short one, but when she finally arrived, she kind of wished It was a longer trek. Because when she arrived, there was a bickering couple in front of the doors. _How many fighting couples are there here?_

Ash slowed to a stop in hopes of being able to sneak away before they saw her, _if I were just a few minutes later they would've already been down in the lobby._ She looks at them apprehensively.  
  
 _ **Ding!**_  
  
The elevator signaled the arrival of her doom. _They haven't noticed me yet; I could still make a break for—_  
  
"Are you riding the elevator?"  
  
The sound that came out of Ash's mouth, she shits you not, sounded like a dying hippo. Let her just say, she wasn't sure who was more shocked by the sound; her or the guy whose voice she's been listening to all day.

 _Oh my god,_ she thought in despair, _it's them, it's David and Lisa_. She could almost hear her soul wailing in agony. _This is it. This is how it ends, death by constant bickering_.

She looks at them and realizes it would be rude just to turn around and walk home or to ignore them entirely and take the stairs.  
  
 _They'll think I'm avoiding them cause they're gay_. Ash's shoulders slump, "yeah, thanks for holding the doors," She said, walking through the elevator entrance.  
  
"It's no problem," the male in front of me smiles brightly. "I'm Lisa, are you our new floor-neighbor?"  
  
"Yeah, Ashley. But call me Ash." She holds her hand out for a handshake, but when he? She? Grabbed her hand, they pulled her in for a hug.  
  
"I'm the kind of girl that gives hugs, not handshakes, more personal that way, you know?" (girl?) She winks.  
  
 _Yeah, I really don't._ Lisa releases Ash from her grasp. "This is my boyfriend, David," She gestures to the towering man behind her, it's like he has a proverbial thundercloud over his head, that's how angry he looked. He had to be over six feet tall.  
  
"Now, you decide to introduce me," he scoffs harshly. "After all the crap you gave me about cheating, you're gonna do it right here in front of me? Are you kidding me right now!?"  
  
 _What if the lift gets stuck?_ The thought comes out of nowhere, leaving her with cold sweats with the idea of listening to them fight until help arrived.  
  
" _Excuse_ you; I was not flirting. It's called being friendly—"  
  
"I was friendly with Shaun, and you jump down my throat about—"  
  
"Do _not_ interrupt me." Oh, she sounds angry, but then again, so does he. _Why are they still together? Doesn't fighting all the time get exhausting?_ "First of all, we are _gay_. Second of all, I like _dick_. Does she look like she's packing?"  
  
 _ohmygod, this is mortifying. Please don't answer. It's a rhetorical question,_ she pleaded silently in her head. _How long is this elevator ride?_ She leans against the elevator in hopes of becoming one with the metal.  
  
"I don't—"  
  
"It was a rhetorical question, don't answer. Third of all, Shaun wrote his phone number on your cup a few days ago when he thought I wasn't looking " She finished pointedly, arms crossed over her broad chest.  
  
David's face looked thunderous, "What did you do with his number?! I didn't even see it."  
  
"What did I— _I_ threw it away, _David_. Trash belongs with trash after all." She looked at him, incredulously angry. He grabs her bicep, harshly pulling Lisa towards him. Ash pushes herself even further into the wall as he gets in Lisa's face.  
  
 _Ohymygodohmygodohmygod_.  
  
"You had no right to—!"  
  
Ash's hands flew to her mouth in shock, and Lisa's fist found a home in the center of David's face.  
  
 _ **Craack!**_  
  
David was just standing there, staring dumbly at Lisa before He. Went. Down. It was like watching a tree fall in the forest, but less sad. Ash was tempted to poke him with her shoe to see if he was alive. Her eyes darted to Lisa, who was standing shakily, staring at David in shock.  
  
 _ **Ding!**_  
  
They had arrived in the lobby.  
  
 _Thank god!_  
  
And when the elevator doors opened and revealed two police officers looking severely unimpressed. A small old lady with pink rollers in her hair was standing behind them, arms crossed, and a nasty look upon her aged face.

* * *

_~.~  
_   
_"There's something tragic, but almost pure._   
_Think I could love you, but I'm not sure._   
_There's something wholesome; there's something sweet_   
_Tucked in your eyes that I'd love to meet."  
_   
_~.~  
_   
_-lovelytheband, "Broken."_

* * *

At this point, Ash was seriously reconsidering all her life decisions, at least the ones that had led her here, wherever here was.

Sitting inside the police station was not how she planned her Friday evening, not even in the slightest. Apparently, David and Lisa had multiple noise complaints filed against them, and the old lady (who lived down the hall from her) called the cops.  
  
Long story short, it ended up getting physical in the elevator of the apartment building, and Ash ended up with a front-row seat.  
  
Lisa may have identified as a woman, but her right hook, sure as hell didn't.  
  
She slumps in her chair and leans her head back to peek at David's face. _Oh, that's definitely broken, is his nose supposed to be that color?_ She stares—morbidly curious— at his face, wondering if it'll ever look the same again. Watching it swell and discolor at a rapid rate made her think the answer was a firm check in the 'no' column.  
  
 _He really shouldn't have refused that ride to the hospital;_ the thought crosses her mind as she looks away from his plum-like nose and gazes at the door emblazoned with 'Sheriff Stilinski' on the frosted glass. Not that David would have noticed her staring with how hard he was glaring at Lisa, who sat across from him picking her nails in a distinctly bored fashion.

Interestingly enough, they only hauled Ash in because when the cops showed up, she had claimed, very loudly with her hands up, "I swear to god, I didn't do anything." Which was interpreted as a sign of a guilty conscience, and so the cuffs were unleashed, go figure.  
  
She was dragged out of her thoughts by the sound of the Sheriff's door opening and a skinny teenager being shoved out. He stumbled over his feet for a second before he caught himself on the bench-railing next to Lisa. He flashed an awkward grin at her and moved his arms away from it, as she happened to be using it as an armrest  
  
"The, uh, Sheriff wants to see you?"  
  
He was jittery like he couldn't keep still and awkward with his hands like he didn't know what to do with them, so he just rubbed the back of his neck. His tone, while sounding confident, ended with a distinctively questioning lilt.

"Does he now? Are you sure he wants me?" she (he?) sounded skeptical, to be honest, so was Ash, just a little bit. After all, he had just been shoved from the Sheriff's Office.  
  
He looked a little confused and slightly panicked, "David, Right?"  
  
Let Ash just say; she has never seen a woman's face go from 'too bored to even deal with you' to 'I can murder you with my freshly manicured nails and drink a martini at the same time' so fast. In five seconds, she had him scared for his life, and it was awe-inspiring to witness, truly.  
  
"First of all, it's Lisa, not David. Second of all, who the hell are you?"  
  
Not gonna lie, Ash was pretty enthusiastic about this showdown. She's seen Lisa takedown, a 6ft man built like a brick house, in one punch. She was kind of like Ash's spirit animal at this point. Except that Ash realized they were all here, in the Police Station, _in holding._  
  
 _Ohmygod, she's gonna kill him. He's like 5ft 10 and made up of pale skin and flannel. She'll snap him like a twig._ Her eyes grew wide at the thought of being a murder witness, and Ash could tell that it was at that moment he realized he was a goner.  
  
His eyes went wider than hers, and they shot around the room looking for help. Being that Ash was the only one aware of the danger his life was in, and the only one who was paying attention, his eyes quickly found hers. His eyes were like molten bronze, and it caught her off guard.

They were the same color as the Great-Grandfather's tree bark. That was the first thought that came to mind — the second being the desperate, pleading look in them.

Ash shook her head rapidly, and his eyes grew wider. She started mouthing 'abort, abort' with increasing hysteria, and he seemed to be feeling the same level of hysterical panic Ash was; granted, her alarm could be because of witnessing Lisa's brutal aggression towards David, the guy she loved. Ash would just like to note, Lisa didn't even know who Flannel-Guy was.  
  
"Oh my god, please don't kill me," he ran his hand through his short hair, "I'm Stiles—"  
  
"What the hell is a stiles?"   
  
" _Me!_ I'm a Stiles! Is that so hard for people to grasp!?" His exasperation seemed to overshadow his fear for a moment. But let Ash say, Lisa-who-was-once-a-Liam, was not impressed, more like pissed to be truthful.  
  
"Listen here you little—"  
  
"Stiles, what're you still doing here, son."  
  
The look on Stiles' face is one Ash will cherish for the rest of her unnatural life, the look of complete and utter relief and adoration that crossed his features was indescribable.  
  
Now the look on Lisa's face? Complete and total shock, and... _is that nervousness I see in her eyes? Why is she shocked?_  
  
"Dad, ohmygod, have I ever told you I love you? Like, do you want a bacon burger for dinner?" Stiles threw an arm around the Sheriff. "Cause I think you've earned it, big guy, " is he winking at him? "We can even get curly fries," he's definitely winking.  
  
 _Wait._  
  
 _Dad?!_  
  
Her eyebrows flew off her face, well, she means it felt like they did, but Ash is pretty sure she's still hairy up there. _His dad's the Sheriff? 'oly shit. Lisa was going to kill the Sheriff's son._   
  
She had to get out of here.  
  
"You—" Sheriff Stilinski stops what he's saying and sighs, "Go home, Stiles."  
  
"I'll get right on that" Stiles removes his arm from the Sheriff.  
  
It's now or never, "Uh Mr. Sheriff Stilinski, sir?"  
  
He stops looking at Stiles and turns to her with a furrowed look on his face, "Yes, Miss….?"  
  
"Ashley, sir. Ashley Quinn, I'm new in town. "  
  
"I was wondering why I didn't recognize you," Stiles interjected, leaping forward to stare at me expectantly, but his eyes were warm, "Are going to a BHHS? I— I mean, you're a high school student, right?"  
  
 _BHHS?_  
  
Her face must've conveyed her confusion because the Sheriff decided to take pity on her and explain. "He means, are you attending Beacon Hills High School."  
  
 _Oh, I feel a bit like an idiot for not getting it now._   
  
"Yeah, I'm starting my junior year when the fall semester starts."  
  
Stiles' face lit up, but before he could talk, his father cut him off. "You wanted to ask me a question?"  
  
Ash dragged her eyes away from his son's downtrodden face to meet his eyes, "Yes, Sir. I was wondering if I could go, I need to catch the bus before five-thirty." _I wonder if I'm overdoing it with the 'Sirs,'_ She thought, watching Stiles mouth the word 'Sir' bewildered.

"What are you here for?" Her attention snaps back to the Sheriff. Ash opens her mouth to speak, but David beat her to it.

"We're here because that guy over there broke my nose!"

"Ohh, so now I'm just 'some guy' to you? You weren't saying that last night choking on my—" Ash's eyes go wide as she chokes on her saliva, it feels like they've been doing that a lot today.

"Okay, okay! I think I get the picture here," the Sheriff interrupted swiftly.

Stiles looked at both of them and muttered loud enough for everyone to hear, "Dad, I think we _all_ get the picture."

Sheriff Stilinski sighs, "... _Stiles_." Stiles backs away with his hands up and a 'who, me?' expression. The Sheriff looks at her, confused, "How do you fit into all this?"

"I live in the apartment below them. We happened to share an elevator when David got knocked out on his ass," Ash stated plainly, "Your Deputies were _kind_ enough to take me in as a witness."

"That's it?"

"Yes, Sir."

Ash even does a little two-finger salute in a show of her sincerity. He looks bemused and his son, amused.

"You can go, I don't want you to miss your bus. It's almost five-fifteen, " He said, "You'll just have to sign the release forms." When she nods her head, he turns to his son, pointing, "And you need to get out of here. I know you're bored with Scott gone, but I can't entertain you and run the police station, got it?"

Ash doesn't hear the rest of their conversation, being that she got up to head to the front desk to sign the release forms.

The Deputy in charge of overseeing the release went by the name of Tara Graeme.

"And that," the deputy said teasingly, placing a seal on the corner and signing her name with a flourish, "is a finished form." Ash smiled slightly; Deputy Graeme reminded her of mom.

"Are you going to mount it up on the wall? You know, to memorialize your experience in Beacon Hills' Police Department." She inquired jokingly. It made Ash give an echo of a laugh, not a real one, just one with enough upturning of the mouth and barely-there sounds of laughter to pass as one.

"Maybe." She said, looking down at the finished form. Ash was glad that she still had it in herself to joke with others. It's weird; ever since entering Beacon Hills, she's felt freer in a way she hasn't since Washington, more open in a way Ash hasn't felt since Japan. 

She waved a small goodbye to Deputy Graeme ("Just call me Deputy Tara, Graeme is too tiring to say."), and pushed open the doors leading outside.

Ash is walking down the steps of the department when she hears someone yelling behind her, "Hey! Ashley, you need a ride?" She turns around to see who it is.

It's Stiles, half hanging out the entrance of the Police department. She can see him looking at her expecting an answer, but Ash can also Deputy Tara and Sheriff Stilinski watching them from the reception desk, like a pack of gossiping teenagers.

 _I'm either flattered or mortified. I can't decide_. Ash looks at his face, expressing hope, and she can't help but nod her head. "Yeah, I could use a ride."

* * *

_~.~  
_   
_"Life is not a love song that we like_   
_We're all broken pieces floating by_   
_Life is not a love song; we can try_   
_To fix our broken pieces, one at a time."  
_   
_~.~  
_   
_-lovelytheband, "Broken."_

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I'm still working on how to format on AO3.


	4. Promise Me, No Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He snorts loudly enough to attract attention from the three other candidates sitting nearby, their heads snap in his direction. Both Stiles and Ash duck down in their seats, his eyes are wide with embarrassment and hers with merriment. "They have bat ears," he whispers accusingly, but his eyes are soft and amused.
> 
> She laughs softly, "No, you're just loud."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All rights reserved to their respective creators and companies.
> 
> Important Information:
> 
> Misaki: Japanese, 御先, "Misaki") are a collective term for spirit-like existences in Japan like gods, demons, and spirits, among other supernatural entities. Their name comes from a Kannushi's Vanguard. 
> 
> Baku: (獏or貘) are Japanese supernatural beings that devour dreams and nightmares. According to legend, they were created by the spare pieces that were left over when the gods finished creating all other animals. They have a long history in Japanese folklore and art, and more recently, have appeared in Japanese anime and manga. Legend has it that a person who wakes up from a bad dream can call out to Baku. For example, a child having a nightmare in Japan will wake up and repeat three times, "Baku-san, come eat my dream." Legends say that the Baku will come into the child's room and devour the bad dream, allowing the child to go back to sleep peacefully. However, calling to the Baku must be done sparingly, because if he remains hungry after eating one's nightmare, he may also devour their hopes and desires as well, leaving them to live an empty life. The Baku can also be summoned for protection from bad dreams before falling asleep at night. In the 1910s, it was common for Japanese children to keep a Baku talisman at their bedside. (Wikipedia)
> 
> (In this instance, I use them as supernatural people with the ability to walk in people's dreams and gain strength from devouring their nightmares, in other words, their heightened emotions. Some feed off the hopes and desires for an extra boost. The idea can be compared to a Vampire choosing to drink blood from humans [ergo killing them] and choosing to drink from animals. [less filling, but more morally acceptable])

**Promise Me, No Promises**

* * *

_~.~_   
_"I just wanna dive in the water with you_   
_Baby, we can't see the bottom_   
_It's so easy to fall for each other_   
_I'm just hoping we catch one another."_   
_~.~  
_   
_-Cheat Codes "No Promises (feat. Demi Lovato)_

* * *

_This must be one of the most awkward car rides I have ever been on. It's been silent since I told him I needed to go to 'Ms. Kay's Diner' for an interview._

  
Ash was currently looking out the window, and Stiles was drumming his fingers on the steering wheel lost in thought. Which was fine because so was she, the scenery of blurry greens flashing by was enough for her to get lost in.

  
Beacon Hills had a feel to it, one she hadn't felt since Japan truthfully. Her family had lived in a traditional house on the fringes of Yakushima Island. There were several different Kodama, Baku, and other Misaki residing in the gated community they lived in. A Moidon offering protection owned the land of which the compound lay upon, in return for caretakers and festivals in its name. Her family had lived peacefully there until she was ten, and then Dad got an offer from some law firm opening in America. You could say it was the beginning of the end.

  
The car turned on to a different road, and the trees started thinning out to make room for houses and markets. The lack of monotonous green blurs broke Ash out of her musings. It took her a while to realize she had started moving her head along to the beat his hands played. _Wait_ , her brows furrowed, _i_ _s this the Star Wars opening song?_ The thought struck her as Ash recognized the song, and she couldn't help herself. She snorted and started chuckling under her breath. Of all the things she thought could happen, listening to Stiles give a, very on beat, drum performance of the Main Title was not what she imagined. Ash turned her head away from the window and stared at Stiles, looking at him as though this was the first time she's ever looked upon him.

  
 _Dad loved Star Wars._  
  
"What?" He asks, looking a bit nervous, "Is there something on my face? Ohmygod, there's a spider on my face, isn't there?" he asked, panicked, turning the wheel to pull over, "where is it?! I knew I felt something!"  
  
 _Don't laugh.  
  
_ She laughed, grabbing the steering wheel lightly with her right hand laying over his; Ash gently pulls it back towards the road before he can get the car to the side of the street. _Thank god there's no one on the road right now._ "Stiles," she says, laughing softly, interrupting his staring at her hand atop his "There's no spiders on your face, just moles Stilinski, just moles."  
  
His mouth dropped open, "Then why were you staring at me!?" he said exasperatedly, gently dislodging my hand from the wheel and pulling the car over anyway; he turned it off and looked at Ash expectantly.  
  
 _Don't. He's human._  
  
She ignores her more logical half; she's boring anyway.  
  
"What?" She asks mock affronted, "I'm not allowed to stare at cute boys now?" Don't forget Brain; Dad was human too. His mouth drops open for the second time today, and he was left speechless, staring at her. Ash wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.  
  
"You're shitting me right now, aren't you?" He asks as a flush slowly makes its way up his neck.  
  
"A little," She brought up her index finger and thumb, "but not for the reasons you're thinking," Ash amends, knowing he probably thought she was joking when she called him cute. "You're still pretty cute, but that's not why I was staring."  
He gulps and looks at her confused before his expression clears up, and he looks stunned when the first few notes of the Star Wars Main Title sounds from her throat. Leaning back in the passenger's seat, Ash relaxes her body into the soft leather, still humming the tune.  
  
It was silent in the car for a few seconds before the sound of the ignition starting shook the Jeep. It only took a few more seconds after, for Stiles to start back up with the rhythm, the drumming starting in tune with her quiet humming, filling the Jeep with a promising, unorthodox, duet.  
  
It was a silent ride after that, but the awkwardness was gone, and something warm, something _soft_ , simmered in the air between them.

* * *

_~.~_   
_"Baby, I think about you, and I feel it_   
_Deep in my heart_   
_Maybe we just ain't meant to be something_   
_Maybe we are?"_   
_~.~  
_   
_-Cheat Codes "No Promises (feat. Demi Lovato)_

* * *

Ms. Kay's Dinner was one of the few genuinely retro diners left in Beacon Hills. It was founded by Kathleen Richards or as her more common moniker Ms. Kay, in 1967. She was 25 when her diner became an instant hit, opening night. It's been thriving ever since−or so Ash read on the laminated card standing on the table of their booth.  
  
Stiles and Ash arrived at Ms. Kay's about twenty minutes ago. They ended up getting a spot to sit down while they waited for the owner to call her name for the interview. There were three other candidates for the position as a waitress.  
The card wasn't lying, Ms. Kay's was really popular.  
  
 _This is going to be a long wait._  
  
She let out a sigh and tilted her head back to lie on the booth's headrest. She could feel Stiles' gaze boring into her as he fidgeted with everything he could find, even his own hands. _He's so bored waiting with me, he can't stay still._

"You don't have to wait with me, you know. I can hitch a ride on the bus to get home." Ash said, still looking at the ceiling. She can feel him shift ever so slightly in his seat, and the rapid tapping on the table stops abruptly. Ash drops her head back down to look at him, "if you're bored, you don't have to stay."  
  
He opens his mouth to speak, "I, uh, have ADHD," he says, nodding his head along to some song from the '60s; it was playing on the old jukebox in the corner of the diner. "I can't really stay still that long."  
  
"Yeah?" She asks, he nods. Ash notices that he's hands are still as they're talking, and his leg stopped bouncing. "Does talking stop your fidgeting?"  
  
"Huh?" he looks down at his hands to watch them _not_ move, "Huh, not really. I'm just trying to pick you apart seven ways 'til Sunday, and it's taking up a lot of my focus," he says honestly.  
  
"Pick me apart? Like, _analyze_ me?"  
  
"Yeah. I mean, come on, who moves to Beacon Hills without reason? Nobody, okay, nobody moves to Beacon County without chasing something." He states vehemently, looking pretty sure of himself and his statement.

 _Well, he's not wrong,_ she thinks, as the Nemeton comes to mind. Ash nods her head, "You're right, I'm chasing a second chance at life," he looks confused but intrigued. He raises his eyebrows questioningly, a sign for more information.

Ash sighs and wets her bottom lip, "My parents died, and I've been trying to escape anything that reminds me of them—" _and the hunters from discovering my continued survival_. Interesting how the lies that fall from her mouth are no longer lies. She may have started running because of the hunters, but she kept running 'cause it was so much easier than stopping and having to think over her family's demise.  
  
"Hence, the new city," he finishes, a look passing over his face, one she couldn't identify.  
  
"The new state," Ash corrects sardonically, "I'm an overachiever," She jokes wryly with a small fist pump and a shake of her head.  
  
Or a trainwreck waiting to happen.  
  
He snorts loudly enough to attract attention from the three other candidates sitting nearby, their heads snap in his direction. Both Stiles and Ash duck down in their seats, his eyes are wide with embarrassment and hers with merriment. "They have bat ears," he whispers accusingly, but his eyes are soft and amused.  
  
She laughs softly, "No, you're just loud." He huffs out a chuckle and runs his hand through his short hair. Looking at him, here in this moment, Ash feels light. The soft washes of sunset hues splash like a watercolor painting across his face, highlighting the contours of his features, and caresses the smooth plains of his cheeks. It feels as though all the color in the world has gained new depth, a unique three dimensional quality to it.  
  
Everything is somehow brighter.  
  
It was listening to him babble about the science behind Molotov cocktails that Ash had a distant feeling that this was leading her somewhere, where? She wouldn't know, but in this frozen minute, she believes, was like the start of something indescribable.  
  
 _Koi No Yokan, the premonition of falling in love._  
  
It was with this thought that a feeling not unlike fear touched her heart.

* * *

_~.~_   
_"oh, na na, just be careful, na na_   
_Love ain't simple, na na_   
_Promise me no promises."_   
_~.~_   
  
_\- Cheat Codes "No Promises (feat. Demi Lovato)_

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Koi no Yokan: n. The feeling upon first meeting someone that you will inevitably fall in love with them.  
> (Video to watch: http://www.bbc.com/culture/story/20180103-the-untranslatable-japanese-phrase-that-predicts-love )


	5. Watch My Face, As I Pretend To Feel No Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her tears were dry, but she wasn't going to be moving anytime soon. Ash was just— lying there, in the middle of her bed, waiting for the black hole in her chest to stop sucking the life out of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All rights reserved to their respective creators and companies.  
> The song playing on the Jukebox is "Rockin' With the Rhythm of the Rain" by The Judds.

**Watch My Face, As I Pretend to Feel No Pain**

* * *

_~.~_   
_"Lightning strike_   
_Inside my chest to keep me up at night._   
_Dream of ways_   
_To make you understand my pain."_   
_~.~_   
  
_-John Mayer, "Heartbreak Warfare"_

* * *

_Why are there crickets in the city?_ She thinks absentmindedly, laying on her bed curled up, listening to the sounds of the city coming in from the open window. The sheer white curtains were floating in the room with every small gust of air coming through; the full moon outside makes them glow with a luminescence she didn't know five-dollar curtain could have.  
  
She's lying here wondering why things had to change, wondering why Washington had to go up in smoke, why her family even left Japan in the first place, but most of all, she was wondering why someone like Stiles Stilinski exists.

He'd offered her a ride, not expecting her to accept, but he was hopeful nonetheless. _How can he be so forward?_ Ash thinks to herself, agonizing over the awkward ride, _I can't even ask someone to be my friend._

He was everything she had dreamed about when she was fifteen and heartbroken over her first boyfriend, Michael Bash. Smart, funny, nerdy, awkward, understanding, and, most of all, kind. _And I haven't even scratched the surface of his personality yet._

—But, he came too late, or rather she did.  
  
 _If we had met at another time, in another world, I think we could've been epic_. Ash muses quietly in her mind, a barely-there whisper of a thought. Her chest feels numb and tight, and so does her heart.

It's odd, after Michael, she's never thought much about boys in general, not beyond the scattered daydream. But, there's something about this stranger helping her, made her feel less alone. Just for a moment, she felt warm, like she was actually living instead of just surviving. It was an addicting feeling truthfully. He didn't want anything from her either, only time to figure out why someone would move to Beacon County.

He stayed with her, even when Ash told him he could leave. He stayed and made her laugh, and then she made him laugh. They talked, and she felt _so_ normal, like a girl on a date or hanging out with her friend.  
  
"I don't love him, " She whispers to herself quietly, like a confession, "but I _could_ ," and in a way that meant everything to her.  
  
 _This is how stalkers are made_ ; she thinks to herself sardonically.  
  
Ash has so little left of anything that she has half a mind to just cling to this little nugget of happiness that had found her when she needed it most.  
  
 _But I won't._  
  
Ash was like a tragedy in motion; the aftermath of a train-wreck already happened. It wasn't fair to Stiles to expect him to make her happy, not when she wasn't willing to be happy by herself, and especially when she wasn't even sure he thought of her that way or if he was emotionally available. Ash was too much of a coward to ask.   
  
_It wasn't fair._  
  
She slowly became aware of cold wetness slipping down her cheeks. _Oh_. It was like once she became aware of the tears gathered in her eyes, they wouldn't stop coming.  
  
 _Life wasn't fair._  
  
Ash felt something break in her, silently, like the tears falling down her face, down to join their comrades soaked in the mattress below, casualties at war they are. _When's the last time I cried?_ She asked herself, shaking like a leaf in a storm, shaking like the lost teenager she was.  
  
 _Not since Mother told me to run, not since January. It's late June now. Six months, it's been six months._ She thinks slightly hysterical. _Is_ _this what happens when you don't handle your emotions properly? They all come flooding back even stronger and fresher than before?  
_  
She has work on Monday, getting the job wasn't as hard as she thought, but it also wasn't easy. She can't be that person who misses their first day of work over a crying fit. _I'm not that pathetic_. Ash slides her fingers in her hair, pulling tightly at the roots in an attempt to get a hold on her emotions. _I h_ _ave to buy work clothes and a cellphone, and I still need to go grocery shopping. I don't have time for an emotional breakdown!_ She tries arguing with herself to stop the tears, but sweet-talking was never one of Ash's strong suits, and apparently, neither was emotional control. 

Avoidance was vital for her day-to-day life; Ash strived to be functional every day, she strives to get up out of bed and be productive, she strives to live as she knows her family would want her to.

Every day, Ash lies in bed with the phantoms of her family and half-forgotten memories still haunting her psyche, but she still gets up, even though getting up feels like agony on some days and like an exciting adventure on others.  
  
 _Stiles…._  
  
 _Stiles is just another rock in the avalanche. He just happened to be the last_. She thought sadly, her breath hitching in her throat, _the last stone to send my tumultuous avalanche of repressed emotion down._ Ash cared for him, true. Maybe more than she should for a boy she only met this evening, but he was not this romanticized version of himself, worthy of swoon-worthy prose written about his eyes.

No. He was Stiles, the awkward hyperactive guy she thinks she could _maybe_ fall in love with, but— falling in love is _easy_ ; keeping a relationship isn't. Ash didn't have it in her yet, to build a functioning relationship.

 _We'd destroy each other before we'd even begin_.  
  
Her tears were dry, but she wasn't going to be moving anytime soon. Ash was just— lying there, in the middle of her bed, waiting for the black hole in her chest to stop sucking the life out of her.

* * *

 _~.~  
"Clouds of sulfur in the air_  
 _Bombs are falling everywhere_  
 _It's heartbreak warfare_  
 _Once you want it to begin_  
 _No one ever really wins_  
 _In heartbreak warfare."_  
 _~.~  
_  
 _-John Mayer "Heartbreak Warfare_ "

* * *

" _Slide on over baby, hold me closer. Movin' to and fro, just swayin' like a slow freight train—"_

Listening to Ms. Kay sing and sway to the jukebox was like a balm to Ash's soul. Her boss was behind the stovetop island, cooking sausages, bacon, and other breakfast essentials, getting ready for the early morning breakfast rush at seven.

Ash had gotten there early, and Ms. Kay let her in to help set up the diner. It opened in about half an hour, and Ash was still wiping down the tables and putting the chairs down on the floor. Bright side, there were more booths than table-chair combos, so she only had to make the repetitive motion of moving the chairs off the table so many times before she ran out of them.  
  
Wiping the last table down and feeling accomplished, looking at its clean surface. Ash moves towards the counter that surrounds the stove island in the center, lifting the top covering the entrance to the kitchen/behind counter area.

_"Oh baby, hold me tight, say you love me. That's all I wanna hear tonight—"_

Hopping onto the counter facing Ms. Kay's stove, Ash watches her in dance in her element.  
  
Ms. Kay's story was one Ash always found fascinating to hear, she might have only been working there for a week, but she still felt like Ms. Kay was a woman to be admired.  
  
Ms. Kay's husband bought her the diner for their eighth wedding anniversary; she was twenty-five at the time. When her husband died four years after the diner's opening, a lot of people didn't think she, a widowed woman, would be able to keep running a business, but she proved them wrong.  
  
 _("I'm the type of woman to do somethin' just 'cause you tol' me I couldn't. Tell me I can't run a business? Look at me now, seventy years-old, and my diner is still the most popular in town." She smirked wryly)_  
  
She was pretty amazing to Ash, to a lot of people actually. For the past week that Ash has been there, everyone in town has—at least once— came by to visit, whether they ate or not was irrelevant. 

She was broken out of her musings when a cold, wet nose nudged her bare thigh. Ash looks down, smiling slightly; it's Watson.  
  
Watson was Ms. Kay's German Shorthaired Pointer. His head was a soft, silky chocolate-brown that fades down into mottled spots of grey and silver down his neck, chest, and back. His eyes, a beautiful, soft, pale gold, were so friendly and intelligent you wouldn't think he was trained as a guard dog.  
  
He nudged Ash's leg again and then rested his head on her thigh by a hand, waiting to be petted.

_" sittin' on the porch swing, listenin' to the light rain beatin' on the tin roof. Baby, just a-me and you, rockin' with the rhythm of the rain."_

It was peaceful here, listening to the jukebox and Ms. Kay duet. Here, petting Watson on his soft head, Ash felt calm. The storm in her heart that came when thinking about paying bills, or how bad she was at playing adult, just disappears when she walks in the door of the diner. It was like stepping into another world, one without heartache or lost orphan girls trying to get by.  
  
It was nice.  
  
"Lil' Miss. Ashley, you best be gettin' the door now. It's almost openin' time, you know." Ash jerks her head up. It's Ms. Kay, of course. Her silvery-grey hair twisted up in a loose bun, her slightly tanned skin wrinkled and aged, but bright and clean. Her blue eyes sparkling with something you could only describe as _life_. She had a smile that reminded someone of home and warm food.  
  
"Of course, Ms. Kay," Ash gently prods Watson off her leg and gets up. He whines quietly before sulking off to the open backdoor of the diner, shuffling no doubt, to the gated yard where his dog bed lies.

Ash moves to the front, switching the sign from 'closed' to 'open.' Friday morning, one of the busiest days of the week other than the weekend— or so she's been told. Ash took a deep breath.  
  
Ash was ready, though.

* * *

_~.~  
"If you want more love_   
_Why don't you say so?_   
_If you want more love_   
_Why don't you say so?"_   
_~.~  
_   
_-John Mayer, "Heartbreak Warfare"_

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to mention that this story is about character development and self-healing. It'll deal with themes like suicidal thoughts, depression, and learning to love one's self. I would also like to mention that if you have a problem with L.G.B.T.Q+ in general, then you should probably stop reading. Lisa will be making a comeback in later chapters, and while the central pairing is a heterosexual one, there will be minor relationships in which both characters will be the same sex.
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to read this, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter. If I have any spelling or grammar errors, feel free to tell me.
> 
> ~Pride  
> p.s. if I come off as an asshole I'm really sorry, I'm just horrid with people in general.


	6. Memories of a Stolen Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Ohmygod, I'm not going through this again, I'm gonna end up hurting someone._
> 
> Staring at her ceiling, plotting murder, Ash can't help but wonder if the Sheriff would be lenient if she pled guilty of insanity due to sleep deprivation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All rights reserved to their respective creators and companies.

_~.~_

_"There is a swelling storm_

_And I'm caught in the middle of it all_

_It takes control of the person I thought I was."_

_~.~_

_-Dean Lewis, "Waves"_

* * *

" _No running down the aisles! This is a store, not a playground!"_

" _Mom, you're just going to make more people stare," coming up from behind her carrying a box of three-dozen eggs, Ash continues to try and appease her ire, "They're practically toddlers," she rolls her eyes._

" _Ash, they're almost seven-years-old. If they don't learn to stop running around the store like a bunch of heathens, how are they ever going to function in society?" Her mother stops the cart to look at the pickles, "Sweet or Dill?"_

_Ash is about to answer Dill when she sees movement out of the corner of her eye. It's the twins, Jane and Allen, waving to get her attention. Ash's expression twists into one of amused disbelief as she watches them contorting their bodies trying to make shapes._

_S._

_W._

_E?_

_Her expression deadpans, really? "Ashlynn, Sweet or Dill?" the dark-haired girl snaps to attention; staring at her mother's back, and Mom turns around, holding two different jars, shaking them slightly, making Ash laugh._

" _I don't like sweet pickles. Dill?" Ash inquires gently._ _Mom nods her head and turns to put the other jar back, but not before she catches sight of the twins— frozen in disbelief and betrayal painted across their faces— whose bodies were still bent into mystifying shapes, in the middle of the aisle, and her eyes narrow._

" _What the hell do you two think you're doing?"_

The sensation of drowning is suddenly all too vivid, staring at the jars of pickles. All lined up neatly and innocently and not at all like the staples of which her struggling insanity found footing on.

Ash's breath hitches and catches in her lungs, feeling empty but at the same time not full enough.

Some days she finds herself feeling everything at once, the waves of emotion dragging her down until all she can do is _feel_ _everything._ Other days, it's a struggle to feel _anything_ other than this gnawing ache in the pit of her stomach asking for more, but it's always _empty_.

_Breathe._

Holding onto the last bits of her emotional control, Ash distantly wonders which is worse; drowning under a tide's rolling waves or dying from hunger and starvation.

She releases the air burning her lungs from within, like liquid fire.

Today, Ash was drowning.

Breathing in and out shakily, but steadier as time crawls on.

She feels light beads of sweat dot her hairline and a trickle of it slowly makes it down her neck before she wipes it away with the back of her hand.

 _Keep breathing,_ Ash is still shaking, and her skin feels cold and hot, stretched too thin over her bones and yet, far too loose and hollow; a walking conflicted contradiction.

 _Pickles,_ she thinks wetly, tears misting in brown eyes, _of all the things, it's the damn pickles._ She wets her lips and stretches her hands out to grab the jar of sweet pickles. _I'll learn to like them,_ She thinks, holding it softly in her grasp, running a thumb over the label before placing it in the cart.

Ash felt like a nutcase; emotions flipping from one to the next, and all it took was a misplaced word, a misguided thought, and apparently, a jar of pickles. _You think you're living, but really you're just a puppet in a show called life, and your puppeteer goes by the name survival_. Her tongue rolls over the edge of her teeth, the sting of it, bringing her mind to the present. She wipes her face off with the sleeves of her shirt.

 _Shopping, we're shopping. Take a deep breath and_ _**move** _ _._

Ash doesn't move.

Hands resting lightly on the cart rail, with her head tilted back, she takes a moment to breathe. Her nose sniffles, just a little, and then—only then— does she move on.

Resting her forearms on the cart hand-rail, Ash keeps pushing it around the corner and into the next aisle. Of course, when she's at the end of her emotional control and feeling her most pathetic, the world decides to throw an obstacle in the way, this obstacle, in particular, happens to be another cart.

It's Sheriff Stilinski in the snack aisle.

His head jerks up at the sound of a cart bumping his. He reaches out to stop his own from rolling into his hip, dropping the barbecue potato chips in the cart. He turns away from the shelves.

"Sheriff Stilinski, Hi." He looks at me with his eyes squinted, staring at Ash's pale blotchy face and glassy eyes, and while thankfully deciding not to comment, it doesn't stop the flicker of concern that sparks in his eyes for a moment.

"Ashley, right? Ashley….Quinn?"

When her head nods in agreement, there's a small gleam in his eye. It looks achingly close to sympathy in the bright lights of Beacon's grocery store. "Stiles told me he drove you to a job interview, right?" another nod, moving her cart back a little and then forwards to the right, away from where it crashed into the front of his.

"You got the job, I see," he commented, glancing at the uniform before moving his cart next to hers as they both went down the snack aisle.

Her attire consisted of skinny black jeans, black shoes—in this case, black low-heeled ankle boots— a white button-up blouse, and a small black apron wrapped around her waist, shifted to the side so that it lied over the left thigh and hip. Ash was overall quite comfortable physically, even though her feet were starting to ache.

She's only been working for three weeks (and living in Beacon Hills for four), and tonight was her first time working the dinner shift. Ms. Kay had Ash on morning duty for the first two weeks of work and lunch during most of this one.

She was only supposed to be covering for another employee who called in sick at the last moment, being that it was Friday night, one of the busiest days of the week, asked Ash to work a double shift.

Stopping to grab a pack of popcorn, a small case of soda, and a bag of cheesy potato chips. "Yes sir, I work at Ms. Kay's Diner, you know, the one on Blackton street." Ash freezes and grimaces with her eyes closed tightly. The minute the words left her mouth, she felt like an idiot. Of _course_ _,_ he knew where Ms. Kay's was, everyone in Beacon _County_ knew; plus, there was only _one_ Ms. Kay's Dinner.

 _Did crying happen to scramble your brains too? Pathetic._ She flinches minutely and ignores the thought.

He smiles, "I know the one, yes" She looks at him, face twisting into an expression of bemusement, features betraying her embarrassment.

He starts chuckling. "If it makes you feel better, it wasn't always called that." He goes to turn the corner into the next aisle with her close behind, but not before grabbing a few cans of bean dip; gesturing silently asking if she wants one, she nods, and he puts it in the cart.

"What was it called before?" They turn into the first of the many refrigerated aisles, this one holding frozen breakfast essentials on one side and frozen dinners and other foods, on the other; in between them, lay a large bin spanning the length of the aisle, inside was assorted cold fruits and vegetables.

"In my day, we called it 'Kathleen's Home Cooked Food'" despite her rung out emotions, Ash couldn't help the snort that slips out and the smirk that tugs at the corners of her mouth, _Back in his day, he says it like he's fifty._

"Yeah, when was that?" She asks curiously as she stops to grab some bags of mixed vegetables from the frozen bin. He leans over with her looking at all the veggies with what seems to be mild distaste; before reluctantly dragging some peas and carrots into his cart.

"It changed in '83; I was 17 at the time."

"Do you know why Ms. Kay changed it?"

He hummed as they moved to the dairy aisle, "Ms. Kay's was ' _the_ ' hangout spot in the eighties, but a lot of the kids found "Ms. Kathleen" to be too long to call every time you wanted a refill; so we started calling her Ms. Kay, and I guess it just stuck" he shrugged as he answered, looking at the different dessert flavored yogurts on display.

He grabbed the plain blueberry and strawberry combo despite his longing looks at the key lime and Boston cream pie variety.

It was interesting listening to Sheriff Stilinski's talk about the history of Ms. Kay's Diner. Ash didn't know any of this before he started talking. It felt nice learning more about this town and one of its staples of town pride.

It was almost like she was finally settling in.

The sweet pickles lay forgotten at the bottom of the cart.

When they turn the next corner, Ash thinks they were both surprised to find the registers on the other side. They had walked through almost the entirety of the store talking; slowly walking to the checkout together, they finally made it to register three; the only one open this late, the Sheriff lets her go first.

* * *

_"There is a light in the dark_

_and I feel its warmth_

_In my hands,_

_In my heart,_

_Why can't I hold on?"_

_~.~_

_-Dean Lewis, "Waves"_

* * *

_I should've taken Sheriff Stilinski up on his offer to help carry groceries,_ Ash thinks, morosely staring at the daunting four flights of stairs lying before her.

After paying for our groceries, Sheriff Stilinski offered to drive her home. Considering Ash doesn't have a car and her apartment complex was almost two blocks away, she agreed to his offer. The ride was surprisingly comfortable despite the silence.

After her refusal of his help, he finally pulled away from the curb and headed east towards his home Ash imagines.

So here she is, at the foot of the lobby stairs, silently cussing out whoever decided that taking a knife to the elevator was a good idea. The elevator broke about three days ago after some tenants chose to mark up the inside of it to look like a mountain lion was let loose. There were fake claw marks all over the paneling inside, and it wouldn't have been a problem if the _idiots_ hadn't scratched up the control panel as well.

Ash sighs and leans over to pick up four of the eight bags she has. _I'll have to come back and grab the rest. Hopefully, no one steals them._ She makes it up half the first flight before she hears cursing coming from the lobby. "Who the hell leaves their bags in the lobby!" Ash's eyes go wide, and she turns to rush down the stairs.

When she makes it to the last step, she sees a pale man in sweatpants and a grey hoody leaning over her groceries, which were comically splayed out on the floor for all to see. Ash's eyes are still significantly wider than usual. The man's head snaps to her when a foot lands on one of the bags still lying on the floor. When he stands up and turns to Ash entirely, his face is thunderous; until it suddenly deflates.

"You- _you_ , If you weren't a girl, I'd make you run laps," he points very vigorously at her face, his hair seeming to frizz up by its own volition, looking more and more like he stuck his finger in an electric socket. _What?! That doesn't even make sense._ Her eyes narrow and he drops his hand.

"One, don't ever make assumptions that just because I'm a girl I can't run laps, I used to do cross country and I can damn well run circles around you. _Two_ , I wouldn't run even if you _told_ me to," Ash stares at him offended. His eyebrows raise so comically that he starts looking like a maniac.

"Are you a high school student?"

"Ye—"

"Attending Beacon High School?" He's staring at her with a scheming look in his eyes and completely ignoring the ire she was spewing at him seconds prior. _I don't like that look in his eyes._

" _Yeah_ , are you even going to let me fi—"

"I'm Coach Finstock; I'll be your cross country coach" He sticks his hand out for a handshake.

She stares at him, incredulous. _Is he serious?_ He shimmies his hand and looks at it pointedly. Ash sighs for the second time since she got home and shakes his hand. "Who said I was going to run for the school?" his face drops into an expression one could only call wounded and yanks his hand back.

"Why _wouldn't_ you?" he looks scandalized. Ash widens her eyes and can feel her eyebrow twitch as she stares at him disbelievingly. _Because you were a dick to me just now?_

"I _just_ said I wouldn't even if you told me too!" she shouts.

He throws his hands up.

"Well, what would make you join the team?!" He yells back, louder.

Ash starts to roll her eyes when they catch the bags on the ground by his feet. _That could work,_ she thinks to herself, her lips quirking upwards.

Ash looks in his eyes and then slowly moves her gaze towards the groceries, staring at them tellingly. "You know, I wouldn't be an excellent runner if happened to hurt my back," She smirks at him, and his eyes narrowed suspiciously at her, and then at the food at their feet. "These groceries sure are heavy, don't you think so?" Her eyebrows raise questioningly.

He's still gazing at Ash when he finally decides to talk, "You drive a hard bargain, girly." His mouth stretches into a manic-like grin and points at her, "You remind me of me, three years ago," and with that, he leans down and picks up the remaining bags on the floor and jogs up the stairs.

"What the _hell_ is he on?" Ash whispers to herself, before following him up the stairs.

_What the hell did I sign myself up for?_

* * *

" _It comes and goes in waves_

_And carries us away, through the wind_

_Down to the place_

_we used to lay when we were kids_

_Memories of a stolen place_

_Caught in the silence_

_And echo lost in space."_

_~.~_

_-Dean Lewis, "Waves"_

* * *

_Ohmygod, I'm not going through this again, I'm gonna end up hurting someone._

Staring at her ceiling, plotting murder, Ash can't help but wonder if the Sheriff would be lenient if she pled guilty of insanity due to sleep deprivation.

"I told you to get out!"

"Lisa— "

"NO! I _refuse_ to listen to you, dick-face!"

"don't be such a _bitch_ — "

"Ex _cuse_ me? Do you wanna repeat that? I don't think I heard you right; it _sounded_ like you called me a _bitch"_

 _Maybe I should move?_ She pondered, _I have a steady income now, and my next paycheque should be coming soon._

"Well if the shoe _fits, bitch."_

Ash had two weeks of radio silence from above before they came back battier and _bitchier_ than ever before.

There had been court-ordered restraining orders handed out after the Elevator Smackdown, but by the sounds of it— they were dutifully ignored. And so here she lays, staring at the ceiling, hands folded over her stomach, wondering if Ms. Kay would consider visiting her in prison.

" _Fine!_ If you don't leave then I _will_!"

The consequent crashes, cracks, booms, and the finality of a door slamming shut was like music to her ears.

 _Oh, thank god, I was getting ready to plan my testimony_. Ash sighes in relief, the idea of having to spend the rest of her life dressed in prison orange was daunting; rolling over, she tucks her legs up and squeezes her hands between her thighs to keep them warm. Ash's eyes droop sleepily and contently, the quiet atmosphere doing wonders for her sleep environment.

_**Knock knock** _

Ash's eyes snap open.

_**Knock** _

her lips purse, shifting in the bed Ash gets up from her spot slowly.

_**Kno— knock** _

The knocks were getting quieter and more hesitant as she made her way, very obviously and loudly, to the door _. Please don't be who I think it is._

Ash opens the door and who does she see?

A very uncharacteristically sheepish Lisa. She's standing with a suitcase the size of Ash, and a puppy held in her muscular arms.

 _Are you shitting me right now?_ Ash stares murderously at the duo.

* * *

_"I watched my wild youth disappear_

_In front of my eyes_

_Moments of magic go under_

_It seems so hard to find_

_Is it ever coming back again?_

_Take me back to the feeling when everything was left to find."_

_~.~_

_-Dean Lewis, "Waves"_


	7. Those Three Words Are Said Too Much, They're Not Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Hugs? Mom always hugged the twins or me when she was upset._ Ash drops down to the kitchen floor next to Ms. Kay and places a hand on her shoulder. Ms. Kay takes her other hand and puts it over Ash's own, shaking.
> 
> Watson lays his head on her other side, a piece of bacon still hanging out of his mouth.

_~.~_

" _We'll do it all_

_Everything_

_On our own_

_We don't need Anything_

_Or anyone."_

_~.~_

_-Snow Patrol, 'Chasing Cars'_

* * *

A single, pale finger pressed against the glass of the shower door. It slowly trailed through the water droplets clinging to the surface; condensation fogging the room up till all she could breath was warm, heavy, air. Her finger was soon joined with a few more, moving across the cold glass, making abstract trails with every twist of her wrist.

The white tile that made up the shower was heating up as the steam from the active showerhead continued to pour. Ash's right shoulder leaned up against the glass; one arm cradling her torso loosely and hair soaking wet. Her skin was red and pruned, as Ash stared at the water streaming out of the rusted shower-head, lost in thought.

4th of July took place a week prior, she had almost missed the holiday, flying by as it was, but how could she with all the sounds going off; and the parks overflowing with the smell of barbequed meat and children yelling with glee, cracking through the air.

Ash had worked that day, and the rest of the week following. ( and If she pretends that, in her darkest moments, those laughs _didn't_ turn into cries for help and the yells of glee _never_ morphed into screams of terror and pain; and that the smell of barbequed meat _didn't_ feel like it was trying to choke her with the scent of burning flesh and gunpowder, well, that was her problem wasn't it?)

The door to the bathroom opens so suddenly Ash almost forgets to scream; keyword, _almost._ Her body throws itself to the opposite side of the shower; up against the tile of the wall. Covering her body as best she could, Ash screams; loudly. The sound slowly builds up a reverb, echoing oddly for such a small room. 

A man, taller than her measly five-foot-five height, jumps in fright and starts screaming with her. The echoing suddenly cuts out, but the screaming does not.

He was tanned, his hair was a single voluptuous wave atop his head, the sides were shaved close, and it was an overall mess, as though he had just woken up. His eyes, a clear slate grey, were wide with shock and mortification as he turned around, embarrassed to even look at Ash. Their screams faded, and heavy pants filled the room in their absence.

It was Lisa.

"Why the hell _are you screaming?!"_ Lisa grabbed her (their?) chest, right where her heart would lie. Her eyes dart up to meet Ash's in the mirror. Ash's eyes are wide with disbelief.

" _Me?!_ What the hell are you doing in _my_ bathroom?"

Ash jerks open the clear glass door and grabs the dark-blue towel hanging up by the shower. Lisa's eyes close tightly.

"I asked if I could crash here last night, remember?" Her face was still turned away, giving Ash the illusion of privacy.

As Lisa spoke, Ash remembers last night in vivid detail. Lisa and David had shown up after two weeks of silence. The yelling had started up a few hours after Coach Finstock had dropped off her groceries.

_Didn't She bring a dog?_

Right on cue, a loud, squeaky barking broke through the thoughtful silence as Ash got quickly dressed; Lisa's eyes were still closed, and their face turned away. A puppy, a German shepherd to be exact, came through the open bathroom door, it must've been moving too fast to stop, for it slid on the floor before coming to a slow halt against the lower cabinet doors. They both stared down at the fluff ball of happy yips rolling around on the bathroom tile.

Lisa takes the puppy and leaves the room as Ash finishes dressing and tying her hair up in a twist.

When she makes it to the kitchen, she sees Lisa standing with her back to Ash; she takes a seat at the island. _Her? He? How do you ask about preferred pronouns without sounding like a pretentious ass? I've been calling them a girl in my head the whole time, what if I was wrong?_ Ash leans forward and places her crossed arms on the countertop, resting her chin on upon them. _Maybe I should just ask?_

"She and her or He and Him?" Ash blurts out, and her eyes go wide. She didn't mean to ask like that. _Ohmygod,_ Ash thinks as she watches them jump and whirl around to stare at her with their eyes wide and brows raised. "I-I— I didn't mean just to blurt that out, I swear," hands covering her mouth Ash continues to watch their reaction with trepidation.

Their lips twitch a few times before they decide to reply, "I prefer She and Her, I know, shocking, right?" They— _She_ looks at Ash conspiratorially, like she's sharing a big secret, and Ash can't help but smile and huff a chuckle at her antics.

She smiles back, "It's nice of you to ask, not many think to." Ash has nothing left to say, so she ends up just nodding her head in agreement, and Lisa goes back to buttering her toast.

"So…." Lisa draws out, "how old, exactly, are you?" Ash smiles slightly down at the countertop.

"How old do _you_ think I am?" Lisa side-eyes her critically before humming. She turns and wipes down the counter from her toast crumbs.

"Not old enough to live by yourself, that's for sure." She pauses at Ash's surprised look, before smiling self-deprecating. "I got kicked out of my home when I was sixteen; I know a lost teenager when I see one." Lisa smirks, "We just have this _vibe_ if you will." Ash snorts, _okay, sure…_

"And your point is?" Ash stares at her blankly, waiting. Lisa laughs and shakes her head, biting into a piece of toast. When she doesn't join in, Lisa's laugh slowly sputters out like a dying flame.

"Look, I don't have anywhere else to go, and you look like a lonely, _lonely_ little duckling in need of friendship." She continues, leadingly, building up for a grand reveal.

_Your point?_ She quirks her eyebrow and motions for him to get on with it.

At ger unamused look, Lisa deflates and coughs uncomfortably, "So, need a roommate?"

Ash blinks slowly and watches as Lisa grows more, and more disquieted, before she gives her a lifeline, "We split the rent fifty-fifty along with the electric bill. You decide to find greener pastures? I want a two weeks notice and your half of the rent for the following month."

Lisa's mouth pops open, "Just like that?"

"Just like that," she confirms. Lisa's face crumples into elated relief, and she darts forward to hug her.

Ash grimaces, "Oh….huggies, yay..." she pats Lisa's broad back awkwardly as she shudders against her shoulder.

Lisa pulls back and grabs her by the shoulders, " _You,_ my friend, are an angel among bitches." She smiles and then darts off into the depths of her— _their_ apartment.

_Well, that was just…lovely._

Ash makes it down two of the four flights of stairs leading to the lobby before she's accosted by David.

"You!" Her olive-green eyes go wide as she climbs down the next flight in record time.

She almost has time to feel relieved, before she hears his footsteps pounding on the stairs after her, _maybe it's not me he was calling after?_ She thinks to herself, a hint of hysteria slowly creeping into the cracks of her mind as she hurries. Ash is at the top of the fourth and final flight when her head jerks up at the shouting coming from above. It's David leaning over the banister.

"Hey! Stop running away from me! I just want to ask you a question! You don't have to be such a snobby bitch about it!" Like Ash was going to let herself be caught up in the middle of their shitshow.

_Asshole._ She turns to continue down the final flight, backpack moving up and down rapidly against her back.

Rushing down the final steps like the devil was on her heels— which as far as Ash concerned, he was— she was finally at the lobby. Ash was feeling so hopeful standing at the bottom of the stairs before her flight of freedom was interrupted.

"That's the enthusiasm I expect to see this cross country season!"

It was Coach Finstock standing at the manager's desk, smiling that _stupid_ maniac grin, on his _stupid_ face waiting for their sleazy landlord to show up. Her eyes close slowly and her face screws up in a grimace, _Why me, world? Why me?_ Ash silently wails inside her head, feeling like the universe was out to get her. _Of all the place for Finstock to be._

Ash was not about to be rude to the crazy guy— you know the one who happens to be _her teacher—_ so ignoring him? Out of the question, she pastes a smile on her face and waves at him. The minute she takes a step towards the door, David finally catches up to her.

_I should've run while I had the chance, fuck being rude._

Clutching the bag strap in her hands, Ash turns around when she hears David's panting slow down. " _God,_ I wish you would've stopped when I told you to," a peevish expression flits across his face before it's gone in an instant, "I just wanted to know if you've heard from Lisa?" His facial features seem to spasm before he shapes them into, what Ash believes _he_ thinks is, a charming expression.

Her face goes blank and any nervous ticks or body language that may give her away to be lying, ( _"remember: blank, but not emotionless. Still, but not motionless. Tell the truth, but only_ _ **your**_ _truth.")_ drain as though they never were there in the first place.

_You're a terrible liar; all Kodama are,_ a memory from the depths of her mind whispers, an aged wooden face flashing to the forefront, _Don't lie, bend the truth; weave them together so tightly no one will be able to tell fact from fiction._

"I haven't talked to her since seeing them at my door. She asked me if she could crash at my place last night," she shrugged uncaringly. _He did show up and ask to stay the night, and I_ _ **haven't**_ _seen him since I said goodbye at the door this morning, "_ —but I never responded. I imagine she crashed on some couch last night." _I never talked to Lisa last night, just opened the door to let her in; plus, she did sleep on a couch, you never asked me if she slept on_ _ **my**_ _couch last night._

David's face does this weird twitchy thing before he growls and stomps back up the stairs in a huff.

Ash sighs in relief, it was only eleven-thirty, and she had already been put through the wringer. Before Ash turns and starts walking towards the front door of the apartment complex, she remembers Coach Finstock. He's watching the staircase with a wary expression contorting his features. _Is he worried David will come back down?_

"Goodbye, Coach."

His head snaps to her, startled. Ash bows a little towards him in farewell and he nods back, brows squeezing together in thought.

* * *

_~.~_

" _I don't quite know_

_How to say_

_How I feel."_

_~.~_

_-Snow Patrol, 'Chasing Cars'_

* * *

Ash was almost late to work.

She had a double shift today, working the lunch hour and the dinner rush. She was in charge of tables three, four, five, and nine. The jukebox was playing in the corner, something low and soft, its lyrics were too quiet to make out, but it added to the atmosphere of the diner.

The red and white checkered floor, a glistening tile covering the entirety of the diner. The walls were pretty soft blue with black and white posters from the '50s plastered upon them. The seats of the booths were made of a synthetic leather dyed a crimson color, and the backing was thick bands of white and red stripes going along the surface. The tables were made of some type of heavy stone or mineral, in a hue of soft pearly white.

The esthetic of the design was overall pleasing and calming for the emotions.

A sharp barking breaks through Ash's musings. Watson was staring at her through the backdoor screen. When her eyes landed upon him, he started whining like a puppy, and his tail drooped down, the epitome of sadness.

The lunch hour rush didn't officially start for another fifteen minutes; it wouldn't hurt to feed him before the customers came in. Ash walks quickly over to the door and opens it, Watson's tail immediately perks up, and he trots in victoriously. _Manipulation at its finest,_ she thinks exasperatedly fond. Herding him to the kitchen, she walks past Ms. Kay at the oven.

"Ya' know, you're gonna make him too plump to be my guard dog with how much ya' feed 'em" She shoots Ash a light scolding look, humor still dancing in her eyes. Despite her reprimand, she does nothing as Ash feeds Watson some bacon from the drying rack, leftovers from the breakfast shift.

Ash looks over at Ms. Kay, watching her boss scratch Watson from her place on the floor. "Ms. Kay?"

"Yes, darlin'. "

"Why did you open the diner?"

After she had asked, she felt guilty at the small sliver of pain that cuts through Ms. Kay's contented features; she looked like she was going to flinch. Ms. Kay's smile dims into one Ash could only call heartbreakingly sad.

"My husband, Richard, bought it for me," here, she smiles a little softer, more tender "—you see, we met when were fourteen, of course, we didn't start datin' 'til we was sixteen, but we were married a year later anyway," She sighed and looked around the kitchen fondly, as though she was watching the memories flip by. "He bought this for me as a surprise; it was our eighth weddin' anniversary." Her smile brightens, "I was always cookin' at home, in fact his Mama gave me her recipes when we tol' her 'bout the diner. He was so excited...always so...excited." Her face falters, and her voice wobbles, just a bit, and Watson pushes his face into her chest as she continues, "He died four years later."

The air in the kitchen felt heavy, almost bleak in its countenance. Ash had never been good with comforting, so when Ms. Kay rests her fingertips against her mouth as she loses composure and her shoulders start to shake, Ash is entirely lost on how to help.

_Hugs? Mom always hugged the twins or me when she was upset._ Ash drops down to the kitchen floor next to Ms. Kay and places a hand on her shoulder. Ms. Kay takes her other hand and puts it over Ash's own, shaking.

Watson lays his head on her other side, a piece of bacon still hanging out of his mouth.

* * *

_~.~_

" _If I lay here_

_If I just lay here_

_Would you just lie with me and_

_Just forget the world."_

_~.~_

_-Snow Patrol, 'Chasing Cars'_

* * *

They eventually stood up and continued like nothing happened.

It was with the chiming of the door opening that Ash becomes aware of the first lunch hour customer. It was a group of deputies, she tries not flinch when she catches sight of the guns strapped to their persons.

"Welcome to Ms. Kay's, are you ready to order?"

It was much like this for every encounter she had with the customers. Ash spent much of the lunch hour jetting back and forth between the kitchen and dining area. It wasn't until the last half of the rush that she found someone she recognized.

"Hi, Sheriff Stilinski, are you ready to order?"

His head shot up from where he was pursuing the menu, and when he saw Ash, he kind of just— froze. He wasn't looking at her; it was more like _through_ her, like he was seeing something else. It only lasted for a moment or two before he shook his head as if to get rid of a thought.

"uh, yeah," he turned his gaze back to the menu, "I'll have the, uh, Double Watson Burger and the curly fries and ah…hmm—" he seemed to be thinking very hard and indecisively over his drink choice.

"Can I recommend the House favorite, Sheriff?" She offers timidly, when he nods his head and looks up; Ash continues, "We have Ms. Kay's Old Fash' Malt. It comes in Vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry." His eyes light up in recognition and delight.

"I didn't know the diner still had those," he laughs lightly.

"Yeah? May I ask when's the last time you ate here?" Ash inquires gently, exceptionally curious.

The spark of humor in his eyes seem to fade a little, "My wife, Claudia, used to be a waitress here when we were in high school," the corners of his mouth raised a little, "Before she died we would come here every anniversary and birthday to celebrate." He finishes softly, melancholy slowly seeping into his tone.

Her heart aches a little at the shared bit of information, "You guys must've loved it here for you to come back so often."

"Yeah, we did, " He casts his gaze around the Diner before meeting her eyes once more, "You know, this is where we met." His hand lifts to stroke the small dent in the table Ash hadn't noticed was there 'til he brought attention to it, "—and where we had our first date."

Ash smiles sadly, "You have good taste; it's a great place to have a first date."

He snorts, "I was a nervous wreck the whole time," he taps the dent, "I was so nervous I dropped my malt on the table; I ended up denting the table and breaking the glass." He laughs under his breath. "It was a good day." he sighs. "I don't get to come here much anymore, busy with work, and Stiles doesn't trust me to eat healthy."

"I guess he was right," Ash states wryly. "Considering you're in here ordering Ms. Kay's biggest burger on the menu." Sheriff Stilinski lets out a loud laugh, the small wrinkles he has smoothening out, and the laugh lines around his mouth deepening with every breath he takes; he looks _alive._

Shaking his head, "Just don't tell Stiles, yeah? It'll be our little secret."

Ash doesn't say anything back, but she thinks her wink carried enough words for both of them.

Her lips quirk, amused, "So I take it you'll have one?" she asks, shaking the small notepad she has resting in her palm.

He nods, "Vanilla, please."

"It'll be right out, Sir."

It was interesting seeing the Sheriff so soon after their meeting in the grocery store. She wishes she could've met his wife though, the Sheriff seemed like a good guy, he deserved love, and he _had_ it, but she supposes that's the thing, isn't it?

Love.

It makes the world go round, and the heart start racing. The love between a parent and child, between brother and sister, or sister and sister, brother to brother, from one partner to another and on and on it goes. Remembering the look in Sheriff Stilinski's eyes, equal parts sadness and fondness, was heartwrenching to her. It reminded Ash of the same look she saw in Ms. Kay's this morning and her Grandpapa's eyes when he spoke about Grandma Kimiko. 

Ash occupies herself around the kitchen after she delivers the order to Ms. Kay and the other cook. Ash was thinking too much today. It felt like a blur of hours and minutes squashed together, making the world speed up far too fast.

She was due for a break any minute, and Ash was trying to think of what she wants to eat while trying _not_ to think about heartbreak and loss. It was a great distraction truly, hemming and hawing over the different burgers before settling on a plain Cheeseburger and a small fry and drink.

* * *

_~.~_

" _Forget what we're told_

_Before we get too old_

_Show me a garden that's_

_Bursting into life."_

_~.~_

_-Snow Patrol, 'Chasing Cars'_

* * *

"Did you hear—"

"What? _Really?"_

"They're chopping down the trees in the east woods. You know, for expanding the new apartments in the warehouse district."

"Susan was _totally_ checking you out."

"So, I've been talking to the doctor about this rash I found on my—"

_Okay, too much information, my friend, too much._ Ash quickly darts around table three and under random waitress number two's arm. She has found skirting her way around anyone, and everyone in the diner was just as much a part of her routine as serving food is; the dinner rush was officially in full swing.

Diving into the kitchen, Ash can't help but find excitement in the hustle and bustle of Ms. Kay's diner. "I got a Number Six with a side of Spice Wings and a large Coco Malt!" She can hear Ms. Kay calling out orders left a right and the sizzling of the grease as she cooks meat patties on the stove. The lovely aroma of a garbage can in need of dumping was also making its rounds.

It was an accumulation of sights, scents, touches, and sounds coming and going throughout the kitchen.

She both loved and _loathed_ working the evening shift.

Ash loves it because it had a way of bringing her character to life. The people she meets and sees during these hours always had the best stories, the best personalities, and Ash believes, the best of Beacon Hills in general.

She loathed it because, at the end of the day, her feet would always _ache._ Her shift didn't end until closing time. Considering she works the lunch shift on weekends, Ash is here most of the time on her feet running errands.

But it was worth it.

Ash pivots around the cook to get to table Nine's order and moves out the swinging white door leading into the seating area, and with a quick, "Enjoy your meal," Ash takes stock of her assigned tables.

Nine was currently eating, Three and Four had just been cleared, and Five was— _oh._

Her heart stopped, just for a moment, and then went into overtime. The sounds and sights of the diner all seem to fade away in an instant, and she can't help the heady rush that flows through her veins. Ash felt so giddy you would've thought she was trapped in a pop song.

At table five was Stiles and Sheriff Stilinski.

_God, I was pathetic._

To be honest, Ash did what every seventeen-year-old does when confronted with their newly established crush; She froze. She, honest to god, froze like a rabbit in front of a predator. Staring at the father-son duo laughing at some joke was _the_ most terrifying sight Ash has ever seen, not because they themselves were scary, but because of the embarrassing and all-around humiliating encounter, this could potentially turn out to be.

_They're at my table._ Ash swallows dryly, and her eyes slip closed in existential horror, she could practically hear her ancestors crying in disappointment and her soul wailing in despair. _I'm going to embarrass the shit out of myself; I hate the evening shift!_ The emotions running through her could almost be compared to those of a pre-temper tantrum, but at this point, she was too high-strung to care about how irrational she was behaving. (But that didn't stop her from imagining how good it would feel if she stomped her feet and threw herself at the floor in despair)

_Work now, cringing in the bathroom at your awkward-self later._

Ash took a deep breath and marched to her imminent demise; the word 'hopeless' splattered across her forehead for all to see.

* * *

_~.~_

" _I don't know where_

_Confused about how as well_

_Just know that these things will never_

_Change for us at all."_

_~.~_

_—Snow Patrol, "Chasing Cars."_


	8. Perfect Paradise (Tearing at the Seems)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’ll have a _Double_ Watson Burger, _extra_ curly fries, and an _extra-large_ Vanilla Malt.” He interrupts and shoots Stiles a pointed look when he looks about to protest, “I think I earned it, don’t you think, son? It’s been a busy month.” 
> 
> Ash pretends to still be writing down the order as Mr. Stilinski stares pointedly at her form. His son’s mouth closes with an audible _clack._
> 
> _What’s that about?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Disclaimer: All rights reserved to their respective creators and companies._

_~.~_

_“Oh, hush my dear, it’s been a difficult year_

_And terrors don’t prey on innocent victims_

_Trust me, darling, trust me, darling.”_

_~.~_

_—Imagine Dragons, ‘Bad Liar’_

* * *

_His hair is longer._

The thought comes almost out of nowhere. Ash is standing a foot away from the Stilinski's table, waiting to be noticed.

It's the Sheriff that takes notice of her presence first. He takes on the look of faux surprise, and she can’t help but remember their promise of secrecy. Her lips twitch before she schools her expression into one of polite hospitality, just in time, too, for Stiles finally looks up from the dessert menu. He starts visibly, his mouth dropping open comically, and his eyes looking wider than average.

It takes him a moment to register her appearance before he does this weird pose with his body. His arm props up on the table holding his head, and his other hand rubs the back of his neck, an awkward grin takes over his face and then he waves. It was charming.

_You got this._

She breathes in and smiles. “Welcome to Ms. Kay’s Dinner, what can I get you?”

“Uh…” Stiles stares…and stares. It was like he froze; he stays that way long enough for Ash to start to feel embarrassed. The Sheriff has to notice her plight, for his hand darts out and smacks Stiles’s arm.

Stiles jerks and drops the arm supporting his head, and— you guessed it— a sickening crack sounds as his head smacks the table. “Ugh…”

She should have not found that as funny as she did. She bites her lip, “You okay?”

His head shoots up, “Yeah, no, I’m fine, completely, and totally fine.”

Ash stifles a smile. “Yeah? I mean, I could look at it if you want?” Ash hopes her cheeks aren’t as red as she think they are, she feels heat flood her system. Smooth, real smooth Ash.

Stiles’s eyes go wide, “Y—You, yeah. I mean, it does hurt now that you mention it. It’s, uh, its right here if you wanna, uh, you know…” he gestures vaguely between her and him.

_Cute_.

She smiles and leans forward to place her finger beneath his chin, tipping his face towards her, and his mouth pops open. She’s so close that she can see his pupils dilate to pinpricks before they blow wide, and his eyes darken. Ash swallows and turns his head slowly from left to right, looking at the red mark on his forehead.

Stiles wets his lips, “So, uh, what’s the prognosis Doc?”

She slowly pulls her face into a mask of mock concern. “I’m sorry to say this but, I think you’re gonna live.” She turns to Sheriff Stilinski and tries not to blush at the look in his eyes as they flick from hers, her hand under Stiles' chin, his son’s dazed face, and back again.

_That was a bad idea._

Ash flushes but keeps the joke going as she looks into his eyes with her most solemn look, “My condolences,” she states somberly as she releases Stiles; and if she watches Stiles droop in disappointment from the corner of her eye, that’s no one’s business, but her’s, and her’s alone.

The Sheriff has a look in his eyes that Ash can’t name, but the closest she thinks that would come close would be nostalgia. She licks her lips as she feels sorrow begin to taint the air; sorrow mixed with deep, deep affection. Stiles seems to shake himself of his daze and notices his dad’s inattention. “…Dad, you okay?”

He blinks and then smiles at them, his gaze soft as it drifts between her and his son. “Yeah, son, I’m good.” He clears his throat and continues, “I knew Stiles would pull through, his thick skull has been bested by none so far.” Stiles’s expression goes from concerned to betrayed, “Dad! _Ohmygod_.” His gaze darts to Ash quickly before locking eyes with his dad.

Ash watches as they have this silent conversation with odd facial expression and eyebrow twitches (mainly on Stiles’s part) before Stiles turns to her, “We’re ready to order.”

Mr. Stilinski squawks in disagreement obviously still in the middle of deciding what to order, but Stiles continues on as though he heard nothing, “I’ll take a large #7 combo, with extra curly fries and a Coco Malt and the Sheriff will have a veg—”

“I’ll have a _Double_ Watson Burger, _extra_ curly fries, and an _extra_ -large Vanilla Malt.” He interrupts and shoots Stiles a pointed look when he looks about to protest, “I think I earned it, don’t you think, son? It’s been a busy month.” Ash pretends to still be writing down the order as Mr. Stilinski stares pointedly at her form. His son’s mouth closes with an audible clack. _What’s that about?_ Her face scrunches in confusion before she masks it.

“Coming right up Sheriff…” she pauses “…Stiles.” She finishes softly before walking away.

_You shouldn’t have done that,_ a small voice whispers, the source of all her anxious murmurings and advocate of all things logical.

_He’s human, what’re you going to do if he pursues you. What’re you going to do when you have to tell him—_ but emotions were rarely rational, and teenage hormones even less so.

“Shut up.” She mutters under her breath, defiance burning through her.

But the farther she walks away from the warmth of the Stilinski’s table, the more the thoughts circle like vultures.

They're there now, floating in her mind as though they have a right to be there and are not at all tormenting her. The sounds of the diner slowly being drowned out by her own mind betraying her.

_Don’t tell me you’ve gotten all attached now._

Her heart thuds heavy in her ears, and the next breath she takes comes too quickly. She speds up, trying to get away from the seating area. What if this all comes crumbling down, _burning_ down, and all she’s left with are ashes once again.

What if Stiles finds out she’s not like him.

Not _human_.

_His Father is the Sheriff, you know, I bet he knows how to use a gun…_

The voice of all her insecurities rises higher and higher as it gains footing on all her secret fears. The sound of gunshots echo in her ears, and the smell of gunpowder overtakes the burgers frying on the grill.

_Remember what happed to Aunt Clara? She was riddled with bullets when the clan finally found her._

Visions flash in her mind, blood on the ground and her father holding her mother back as she screamed her rage and despair.

A man in a police uniform being shoved in the back of a cruiser; tears in his eyes when they jerked the gun away, but laughing and insisting in interrogation, ‘she’s wasn’t human, it doesn’t count.’

The look in the police forces' eyes when they found out he was right; they weren’t human.

She stumbles to the bathroom, bile rising high in her throat like the tide, along with her fear. She slams down on her knees, the fight draining out of her.

_I wonder if he’ll be laughing or crying when his bullet rips through your torso._

Ash retches even as she drowns. Her demons winning the battle over her sanity and her hard fought normalcy, tears itself apart.

* * *

_~.~_

_“So look me in the eyes_

_Tell me what you see_

_Perfect paradise_

_Tearing at seams.”_

_~.~_

_—Imagine Dragons, “Bad Liar”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: The self-sabotage is strong in this one. So our little Echo has intrusive thoughts—sadly—which is actually pretty common in most of the populace. 
> 
> However it’s more so extreme for people who have OCD, post traumatic stress disorder, anxiety disorders, or Depression.
> 
> _“Unwanted intrusive thoughts are stuck thoughts that cause great distress. They seem to come from out of nowhere, arrive with a whoosh, and cause a great deal of anxiety. The content of unwanted intrusive thoughts often focuses on sexual or violent or socially unacceptable images…[s]ome unwanted intrusive thoughts consist of repetitive doubts about relationships, decisions small and large, sexual orientation or identity, intrusions of thoughts about safety, religion, death or worries about questions that cannot be answered with certainty.”_ —ADAA (Anxiety and Depression Association of America)


	9. It's All We Know, The Hurricane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Huge, breathless, gasps echo in the diner bathroom. Her hair is damp against her neck and the Stilinski’s order is crumpled in her grasp as the storm inside rages on.
> 
> _Get up._
> 
> Ash slumps back against the bathroom stall.  
> She tilts her head back; chest feeling tight and her throat burning. The smell of her own spit-up heavy on her breath.
> 
> “I can’t,” Ash breathes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _ **Disclaimer:**_ _All rights reserved to their respective creators and companies._
> 
> In the truest sense of the word, trees do not _“heal.”_ They do not repair and regenerate tissue like animals do; rather they compartmentalize damaged tissue with specialized cells, and grow new healthy wood around the damage. (groworganic.com)

* * *

_~*~_  
_“This is harder than we know_  
_We hold it in the most_  
_When we’re wearing thin.”_  
_~*~_

_—Fleurie, ‘Hurricane.’_

* * *

  
It’s odd, hours, days, _months_ go by and its all a blur. A haze of pain and gut-wrenching terror, of sadness and all-consuming grief, of bitterness and burning hate. 

Oh, how she _hates_.

It burns in her belly, low and deep and always there. Sometimes when she’s alone, and voices echo in her mind, she can feel it choke her with the force of it. Choke her with dark fantasies of lawful justice and the bittersweet taste of copper and iron upon her tongue. 

Her dreams are _frightful_ things; tainted with visions running rivets of crimson on pale ivory skin, of screams trapped in slashed throats, and of sightless eyes embedded in decapitated heads.

Her family slaughtered like cattle, and for what? For some hunter to get their daily quota of blood washed hands? For their _pride_?

_They didn’t even check. As if blue eyes are only indicative of murders, of werewolves._

The ceiling is cracked and mildew stained, sagging in area where the water damage is most obvious. Lisa’s snores are penetrating the achingly thin walls of their apartment and the loud hum of the too-old refrigerator thrums against the floorboards.

She breathes in deeply and pretends she can still smell white jasmine and ash-wood; to pretend that she can still feel the warmth of her clan tucked in tight against her heart. That Great-Grandfather is still _there_ , snug in its place in her mind, whispering advice and terrible puns every hour (but she _can’t_ — and a great, gaping abyss takes their place. Everything is silent; mind numbingly cold and empty— so, so _empty_ ).

She chokes down her despair— like she does _every_ damn day— and turns her face into the pillow, her arms clenching tight over her ribcage; trying to keep herself together another night, and forces herself to go to sleep.

(If her dreams bend and twist, distort and merge; laughter into screams and the smell of the fireplace into the spine-chilling scent of burning flesh and wood alike; then that’s no one’s business but her own, hers and the haunting echoes lurking in her ~~_empty_~~ mind.)

* * *

_~*~_  
_“Though I am breaking down_  
_Again._  
_I am aching now,_  
_to let you in.”_  
_~*~_

_—Fleurie, ‘Hurricane.’_

* * *

People always say it’s the small moments that hurt the most. 

The moments where you forget— just for a second— and your memory betrays you in the worst way possible.

You know, when you’re watching TV and turn to make a remark, or that funny post you saw on the internet you try to share, and realize, staring at the empty space where your whole world once stood— once lived— there’s _no one_ there.

Or maybe it’s the Big moments, they amend.

The moments that mean so much that you feel as though you’ll _explode_ unless you tell someone, so excited you are to get home to share the news— but, the door opens and the house is silent and all the lights are off.

Then it hits all at once, like waves crashing against the shore, there’s no one home, and there is no one coming _back_.

After all, you can’t reverse time or turn ashes back into flesh and bone.

For Ash, however, what hurts the most is _breathing_. 

Breathing when you know that _they’re_ not— not any more. But their killers— _murders_ are. 

It’s breathing the same air as them and everybody else, and not knowing when they’ll hold a knife to your back the minute it’s no longer considered human; seeing enemies behind every friendly face and foes lurking around every corner.

The not knowing if the police were as corrupt as the ones in Washington, if they too were cashing in for every supernatural head counted and severed.

—and though breathing is what hurts the most, she does so desperately from her place hugging the toilet bowl.

Huge, breathless, gasps echo in the diner bathroom. Her hair is damp against her neck and the Stilinski’s order is crumpled in her grasp as the storm inside rages on.

_Get up._

Ash slumps back against the bathroom stall.  
She tilts her head back; chest feeling tight and her throat burning. The smell of her own spit-up heavy on her breath.

“I can’t,” Ash breathes.

Her mind wars against itself; defeat and defiance vying for her support as she stays there, stomach rolling like an ocean storm. She can’t do this, not right now, its too much, but—

_Get. Up._

—She _has_ to.

Ash swallows back another wave of bile, and shifts to get her feet back under her. (Trying to pretend that she doesn’t want to curl up into a ball on the floor, never to be seen again.)

A paper crinkles in her hand.

Her heart drops as she looks down at the order held in her horrified grasp.

_Shit._

Ash scrambles to exit the stall and hurries to turn on the faucet. Her head dips down to pull water into her mouth, before she spits it back out. Again and again, until the taste of vomit is no longer lingering on her tongue like a bad aftertaste.

Her hands are shaking as she tries to straighten out the paper against the edge of the counter. 

How long she been in the bathroom battling (and losing to) her demons, Ash doesn't know, but she knows this: She _can’t_ break down in the middle of her shift, not if she wants to keep her job.

She can’t lose this job, not when she has _everything_ to lose if she does.

Staring into the mirror, face soaking wet, Ash pretends she’s not falling apart, a least just for a moment. 

She pushes the door open and darts quickly to kitchen. 

When she slips in unnoticed, she immediately has to step back as another waiter squeezes past to get out the door.

The kitchen is flooded with workers and rushed orders; its Friday night, one of the busiest nights of the week. Her fellow waiters are bustling every which way and Ms. Kay and the cook look ready to set the request rack on fire.

Guilt wells up inside, so she takes a second to say a quiet apology to all the waiters for slacking and to all the customers waiting patiently for their food (and a silent middle finger to any assholes bitching at their servers) but even so, she sneaks the Stilinski's order to the front of the line-up.

—and then, she gets back to work.

_We do not heal: we seal._

Ignoring her feelings, she moves past it all: the worried glances from Ms. Kay and her co-workers, the concerned stare of the Sheriff —even Stiles ( _especially_ Stiles) and his half-spoken questions and confused frown when she delivers their order without a word or previous flirty banter.

Ash forgets everything but her job and the next task to be done, she blocks it out with a single-minded focus until she won’t be able to anymore.

(Even though her heart is in her throat and she feels like she could crawl out of her skin the whole way through; and her mind stays a thousand miles away, lost in the ashes of a silent grove.)

* * *

_~.~_  
_“Come in like a hurricane._  
_I take it in real slow_  
_The world is spinning_  
_like a weathervane_  
_Fragile and composed.”_  
_~.~_

_—Fleurie, ‘Hurricane.’_

* * *

  
Ash makes her way home after work.

She treads on the same main road that brought her into town over a month ago; the same road that runs throughout the entire town. She’s numb and disquiet, withdrawn and wrung-out as she shuffles her way down Main street (‘Aptly named’, she would’ve quipped if she had the energy to do so).

Her heels dig into cracks left in the pavement, a subtle _crunch_ as her shoes scuff and shuffle over twigs and loose gravel. Trees enclose her on both sides of the road, dirt shifting with every gentle burst of air.

It’s _cold_.

It’s cold and she feels _pathetic_. 

Ash sniffles and tries not to burst into tears. She’s broken, she _has_ to be to have a stupid breakdown like that, like some _baby_.

_Poor baby Ash, can’t even cry to her Mama, can she?_

“Shut up,” she mutters to the absolute, colossal, and utter _bitch_ raging in her head. She knows it's _herself_ mocking her own life choices, but that only makes it hurt more. 

Honestly, she should just end it now. Walk right through that forest and give herself to the trees, just like Aunt Clara.

_There is no sound as red lights flash and blue ones follow, over and over they chase each other round and round; like a dog trying to catch its tail._

_Muffled shouts slowly filter back in as Ash turns her gaze away from the Police cruiser._

_She keeps her eyes off the ground, where a cold body lays, unmoving._

_She swallows back her grief as she watches the police tackle one of their own into the dirt. Her father’s hand comes down softly to rest on her shoulder, her mother slumped against his side, she’d been screaming hours prior when everyone felt Aunt Clara’s Voice go silent._

_The clan holds steady and alert at their backs, hidden in the trees, their own grief quiet and resolute in their silence. Great-Grandfather bellows in the distance, wind rippling through the forest and tearing through their clothes, causing goosebumps to bubble up on Ash's skin._

_She turns her gaze away from the pathetic display of her Aunt’s fiancée—her murderer, sobbing his pathetic heart out. Instead, it drifts to the Juniper trees bordering the clearing. Ash strains her hearing and listens, trying to hear anything but his pitiful cries as his skin begins to sting, the Kodama's curse upon him._

_Listens as pieces of Aunt Clara’s Voice echoes in the trees, coming together to form a new sound, and suddenly, Great-Grandfather soothes his temper, for one of his own has returned to him._

_But she’s not the same._

_Ash’s eyes fall closed as she feels a tear trickle its way down her cheek. Her hand slips back behind her to grab her mother’s. Her mother slides forward to wrap her arms around Ash._

_Her head lands on Ash’s shoulder, waiting. “Mom, she—” Ash stops to hold in her tears, “Mom…listen, the Juniper whispers.”_

_Ash feels arms tighten around her and then, she knows her mother is listening to the trees whisper, her mother’s form stiffens, “Akemi,” She breathes out, “What did you do.”_

_“To the trees she goes, windswept and thrown. Dying and dying, and dead not yet,” Great-Grandfather whispers on mellow breezes and the clan stills, “To the trees she was born and to the trees she returns, wounded and broken. Her humanity she gave and sought relief—”_

_Her mother keens and falls back into Father, to whom she latches on desperately, “—the trees gave their gift, and so we welcome one of our own back home.”_

_Ash swallows, but continues to listen, trying to drown out the sound of her mother’s crying. “she’s here, but she’s no Echo and her Voice stays with the trees, a Voice she has no more.”_

To the trees…

Ash snorts, _what trees?_ They’re all lifeless here, no Moidon to be found. Her eyes turn to the oaks around her, they’re quiet and sleeping. The energy is there, but the _spirit_ is gone. The Nemeton nowhere to be felt in their roots. 

The records were _wrong_ , there is no Moidon in Beacon Hills.

She was wrong… _again_.

So lost she is in her thoughts, Ash almost misses the sound of a car pulling up behind her. 

_Wonder if it’s a hunter come to finish the job._

Ash tenses, anxiety pooling in her chest. Her hand clench in her pockets, balling up into helpless fists.

For that was what she was, _helpless_.

The Beacon Hills Preserve has none of the spiritual presence of hallowed ground, if Ash ever lands in a fight, she’d have to pull from the sleeping forest.

Which, honestly, was not ideal; she’d rather have an whole ocean’s worth of energy vs the pond full the Oaks offer.

—and that’s if she’s attacked near them, if she’s attacked in town, however, she’d have to rely on hoping no one actually wanted her _dead_.

The car comes to a stop next to her and Ash pauses; lifting her head up she locks eyes with a pair of concerned, whisky-brown orbs driving a powder-blue Jeep.

 _Stiles_.

* * *

  
_~*~_  
_“Watch it go, watch it go,_  
_we stay the same_  
_And I don't know, I don't know_  
_how it can change._  
_It's all we know, all we know,_  
_the hurricane.”_  
_~*~_

_—Fleurie, ‘Hurricane.’_

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Clara_ — Feminine form of the Late Latin name Clarus, which meant "clear, bright, famous". 
> 
> _Akemi_ — The meaning of the name “Akemi” is: “Bright and beautiful; red beauty”. (It has different meanings depending on kanji used)
> 
> • So, 'Aunt Clara' has a Japanese name (Kobayashi Akemi) she uses the name 'Clara' outside of the clan.  
> 'Akemi' is her personal name, one only siblings, parents, and grandparents will use when alone. (This is not, as far as I know, a Japanese custom. It's one I use for the Kodama aspect. It plays on Japan's custom of having 'in the house talk' vs ' _outside_ the house' speech. Its a thing, I'm just not sure how to explain it)
> 
> • Fun Fact— Clara (Akemi) is the youngest out of eight sisters. Ash's Mother being the eldest.


	10. Don't Give Up On Me ('Cause I'm Not Giving Up, Not Yet)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Look, I don’t know what I did to make you hate me in less than a day, but if you don’t get your cute, little ass in this car before you freeze to death. I’m going to–“ He stops, his lips pursing, his face bewildered. “I–I’m gonna–“ Stiles pauses, staring at her, stumped.
> 
> Ash is tempted to ask what _exactly_ is he going to do, just to see if he’ll have a response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, 
> 
> This is an early apology. I start college tomorrow and being that I'm a full-time student I won't have much time to update.
> 
> But!
> 
> I _will_ update, the chapters just won't be coming as frequent as they have been lately, and I'll also try to keep from skimping out on the length just to _have_ an update to give you.
> 
> To anyone who commented [MsHayles1, MarigoldVance, ManekiRai] I _do_ read them, _all_ of them. I just don't know how to reply without repeating 'Thank You' nine-million times and asking 'Was it okay? Was there something wrong with it?' etc. about a dozen more times.

* * *

_~.~_  
_“I’m not givin’ up, I’m not givin’ up,_  
_givin’ up, no, not me._  
_Even when nobody else believes_  
_I’m not goin’ down that easily_  
_So, don’t give up on me.”_  
_~.~  
_  
_—Andy Grammer,_  
_‘Don’t Give Up On Me.’_  
_(From “Five Feet Apart”)_

* * *

It’s funny— funny in a way, that’s not funny at all— that her whole life has fallen apart in less than a year.  
  
Funny how she has no idea what to do with her life now.  
  
How she’s relying on a finite amount of cash and a minimum wage paycheque to live out the rest of her life. How her only goal in life was to find the Nemeton and now she doesn’t even know if it exists in California, not anymore. And for what, to find safety? She doesn’t even know anymore.  
  
Because god is she lost right now.  
  
...…lost.  
  
Apt, she thinks. Ash is lucky she was even able to flub her high-school records for the transfer, but college?  
  
She can forget it.  
  
Her family inheritance?  
  
Like she’ll even make it long enough to call the lawyer. Hunters would be swarming her apartment by the time she finished explaining that, _no_ , she hadn’t died in the forest fire and no, she would _not_ be coming back to Washington.  
  
So, yeah, she’s _lost_ and _frustrated_ and _lonely_ , and–and she’s _tired_. ( _God is she tired_ )  
  
Emotionally, mentally, _physically_?  
  
All that and more, her very _Spirit_ is drained and worn thin.  
  
Sometimes, Ash is so tired she can’t even tell if she’s dreaming or awake half the time; everything feels so vivid and surreal, that she just doesn’t know anymore.  
  
She doesn’t know a lot of things these days, it seems.  
  
When she first decided to walk home tonight, there was this thought, hanging out in the back of her mind; behind her memories of Aunt Clara being Tree Bound and her breakdown in the diner bathroom. Lingering there and whispering, _‘Just leave.’_  
  
—And she _could_.  
  
Just leave everything behind: the apartment, Lisa and her yappy puppy, the diner, her stuff; just—leave it all, walk right out of town, never to be seen again.  
  
And maybe, one day, weeks after she’s gone, she’ll be on the news. ‘A tree,’ they’ll say, ‘sprouted in the middle of the road overnight, a body lying at its roots, dead.’ A peculiar phenomenon, they’ll call it. They’ll study it, of course, they always do. Identify the body as well; some lost orphan from Washington State.  
Then, they’ll move on, never thinking twice about the girl that lived in five-o-seven, in Little Hill Apartments, about the quiet teenager that worked at Ms. Kay’s Diner, about ‘Ashley Quinn' who never showed up for the first day of school.  
  
They will never know the girl who lived with the trees.  
  
—but looking at whiskey-brown eyes, she realizes she’d be leaving a lot more behind than just people and things; places and money.  
She’d be leaving the promise of a new beginning.   
  
Ash doesn’t think she’s ready to give that up—that _hope_ up— at least not yet.

* * *

_~.~_  
_“And I will hold, I’ll hold onto you_  
_No matter what this world’ll throw_  
_It won’t shake me loose.”_  
_~.~  
_  
_—Andy Grammer,_  
_‘Don’t Give Up On Me.’_  
_(From “Five Feet Apart”)_

* * *

The sun had set, and the moon was beginning its slow climb into the sky when Stiles showed up.  
She doesn’t immediately get in the car when it rolls to a stop next to her, no, she keeps walking (like a petulant child throwing a tantrum, but that’s neither here nor there).  
  
For a whole hour, nothing but their breathing, the soft sounds of the stereo, and the slow crunch of gravel beneath tires fill the silence between them.   
When Ash gives in, it’s due– in part– to the cold.  
  
But mainly, because she realized he wasn’t just going to give up and drive away, cut his losses, and never be bothered with her again.   
He wasn’t going to leave her– alone. (and it means more to her than he’ll ever know)  
“Look, I don’t know what I did to make you hate me in less than a day, but if you don’t get your cute, little ass in this car before you freeze to death. I’m going to–“ He stops, his lips pursing, his face bewildered. “I–I’m gonna–“ Stiles pauses, staring at her, stumped.  
  
Ash is tempted to ask what _exactly_ is he going to do, just to see if he’ll have a response.  
  
But, she is cold (and feeling unbearably guilty that he’s been with her for a whole hour, doing nothing but driving. She feels guilty, she does, but she can’t help the warmth that floods her from the inside out).  
  
It’s just—  
  
“How do I know you’re not just here to kill me, and drag me out into the woods, and leave me for dead,” she blurts out, before panicking when he just stares at her blankly. “I—I mean, how can I trust you, cause honestly—” Stiles leans over and opens the door for her, unthinkingly, she stops walking to climb into the jeep. “I really want to, I do, but how do I know?” She insists.  
  
“You don’t.”  
  
Her mouth clicks shut.  
  
He wets his lips and pulls the car off to the side before continuing with his body facing hers, “You _don’t_ , Ash. Look, I don’t know what this is about and honestly? I’m not gonna ask, but I can understand not trusting people, I _can_.” He sighs, running his hand through his hair, “I just– You don’t know if you can trust someone until you decide to try, okay?” He looks at her earnestly.

Ash looks down at her hands and whispers, “Okay.”   
  
It’s silent in the car and it’s quiet in her head for the first time in over a month, but she would be surprised if Stiles couldn’t hear how loud her heartbeat was, pounding rapidly against her ribcage, a rhythm tapping out like Morse code. Taking a deep breath, she can almost imagine what it means.  
  
_‘You’ll be okay.’_  
  
–and when his hand slides into view, reaching for her own, she takes a chance; her hand flips over, and his fingers thread through hers. Ash raises her head to look him in the eyes and can’t stop the smile that forms; his face is pink but he stares back at her with a grin.  
  
It’s between listening to Stiles recount the time he met his best friend Scott (“In the sandbox when we were five,” Stiles admits embarrassed, “I punched Jackson Whitmore when he knocked down our sandcastle; when the teacher came, Scott lied and said Jackson tripped.” ) and the time he lost his boa in his sixth-grade class (“It was show-and-tell, and when it was my turn, I get up to the front of the class, towel-covered tank in hand, and I’m thinking to myself, ‘this is a lot lighter than I remember.’ Of course, that’s when I hear Scott scream like a baby.” Stiles chuckles, “The boa was wrapped around his ankle and slowly climbing up his leg, he still hasn’t forgiven me for that.”) that Ash realizes that she’s not as alone as she thought.  
  
That–maybe– Ash is not as broken as she thinks she is.

(He drives her home that night, his hand in hers with the music playing in the background like some theme song to a romance movie.)

* * *

_~.~_  
_“I’ll reach my hands out in the dark_  
_And wait for yours to interlock,_  
_I’ll wait for you_  
_I’ll wait for you.”_  
_~.~  
  
_ _—Andy Grammer,_  
_‘Don’t Give Up On Me.’_  
_(From “Five Feet Apart”)_

* * *


	11. It's Supposed to Hurt (It's A Broken Heart)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sound of Lisa snorting though, breaks her concentration and Ash’s head snaps up to stare at him.
> 
> “What?”
> 
> His face slowly morphs into a Cheshire-like smirk; creepy and mocking, “Is that jeep-boy?”
> 
> Ash chokes, “…what?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should apologize, I kinda stopped reading Teen Wolf stories for a while there— still haven't read one in a long time actually— so I'm kind losing the direction, y'know? I have the ending written and i know all the major plot points thought out, but i haven't quite figured out to get there.
> 
> But anyway, the apology is the lack of update despite my suddenly very free calendar space. When the quarantine was annouced i immediately thought that now would be the time to update all my stories, but if you follow any of my other works you'll notice a lack of update over all— sadly.
> 
> So, I'm sorry.
> 
> (Also I've been reading alot of SI Reincarnation Naruto and Percy Jackson stories lately, so I might post something in those fandoms, but I don't know if I should— I have a lot of unfinished stories tbh, let me know if I should, in fact, post them.)
> 
> —Pride

_~.~_

_“It’s supposed to hurt, it’s a broken heart._   
_But the moving on, is the hardest part.”_   
_~.~_

_–Lady Antebellum, “What If I Never Get Over You.”_

* * *

It’s hard, she thinks, being the one left behind, rather than being the one doing the leaving. 

Ash thinks she could’ve handled it better if she was the one leaving; she’s just one person, not a whole clan – and she’d be okay with that, being the one that dies instead of the one that watches everyone she loves die around her.

Ash swallows back her sorrow, and wonders if it’s okay to love again, to be happy again. Wonders if she’s not selfish for wanting it, for wanting to be happy when her whole family are just hollow, empty, echoes lost in the wind. Her hands slide over her mug, rubbing the hot ceramic between her fingers, as she stares down at her reflection shimmering in the tea. 

Maybe she is selfish for wanting this so badly –and maybe that’s okay.

Maybe Ash just has to decide if that’s something she can live with– live with and not hate herself for it later.

She slumps down in her chair, why was it so hard? Deciding to be happy shouldn’t be an internal battle she has to have with herself, but battle on she does. Ash digs the heels of her palms in her eye sockets until she sees stars burst from behind her eyelids– and when that doesn’t work, she runs her hands roughly over her face; trying to rub away the exhaustion she knows sits heavy there.

She’s alone in her kitchen, sitting at the island; just her, a half-empty cup of tea, and the shadows dancing on the wall.

The sun is beginning to rise, and when the first ray of light brushes her skin, Ash can’t help the audible sigh of relief that slips out. Her chest warms from the inside, like she was slowly being filled with sunlight herself; feeding a part of Ash that no one else would understand– not any more.

Ash presses her lips together to keep them from quivering.

There’s no one left that will understand her need to be up at dawn, the need to be the first one there for the sunrise, and the relief when it finally peaks up, out from the horizon. They’ll never understand the rush of happiness that floods her system and the warmth that chases away the chill in her bones when she finally feels the sunlight on her skin.

It hurts, and it’s supposed to, her clan is dead; but it doesn’t hurt like it used to.

That all-consuming grief that clawed up her insides like ground beef, the anguish that wrapped around her heart in a vice-grip; is gone – not completely, but it feels less like someone took a crowbar to her chest, pried it open, and tried to bludgeon her heart to death with it. 

Painful and gut-wrenching, absolutely: _but, manageable._

Everything hurts slightly less than before, some days better than others, but the pain is less still. 

Ash slides off her chair, her jean-clad legs moving away from the counter and closer the window above the sink; closer to the sun still rising in the distance.

They’re built to endure through the winter, all Kodama are, so endure she will, even if she feels like she shouldn’t have the chance to. Even if she feels like the more she lets herself grab onto this – this hopeful flicker of _something_ between her and Stiles – that it’ll all go up in smoke and fire; just like the last thing she cared for. 

Ash sighs and closes her eyes, soaking in some much-needed warmth; trying to see if it’ll chase away the doubts swimming in her mind as well as the chill that lingers in her bones.

She doesn’t know how long she stands there, resting in the sun; but she must for longer than she thought, for she can hear Lisa and his puppy coming down the hall.

Lisa’s puppy – Cloud – slips ever so slightly on the wood flooring, his nails snagging on the rough grain of cheap material, as he dashes into the room. Ash backs away from the sink and heads to the coffee pot, the liquid still warm from when she started the pot earlier. Cloud weaves his way in between her feet, and when Ash comes to a stop, he parks his little butt right on top of her feet.

Ash ignores him – even as he starts gnawing on her toes – and pulls out Lisa’s ‘Baddest Bitch in Town’ mug and fills it up, wrinkling her nose at the bitter smell. Lisa is lucky Ash even owns a coffee pot, considering she would rather eat dust than drink ground bean-juice.

Lisa shuffles in like the poster child for the zombie apocalypse. His eyes narrow slits, trying to let as little light possible into his corneas, and his skin an odd yellowish color; he even has the distinctive limp-stumble of his fellow undead brethren. 

He stops abruptly when Ash shoves the mug in his hands; looking down at the cup in his hand, confused. It takes a second before she sees him finally make the connection, and chugs down the piping hot dirt-water in one go. 

She can see the literal _life_ bleed back into him after he gets the first cup down and he sticks out his mug and grunts for more. Ash gives him a look, but pours the coffee anyway. 

She’s surprised every time she sees him like this, half-awake and ready to fall over; unable to communicate without grunts or smoke-signals until he’s had, at least, two cups of coffee in his system.

“Phenomenal. You. Are. Phenomenal,” he moans around his final sip. Ash tries not to pull a face as she watches him swish that final swig around in his mouth like it was freaking mouthwash.

_“Dude…”_

He looks up, confused, “What?” 

Ash sighs and shakes her head, moving her empty cup of tea to the sink, Cloud whining as she shakes him off her toes, “You’ve got problems my friend.” He just snorts and moves for the coffee pot, his puppy now trying his hardest to trip him.

The weirdo. 

It’s silent between them, peaceful. They’ve fallen into routine in a shockingly short amount of time. Only roommates for a month, a little less than half of Ash’s time here in Beacon.

School starts in two weeks.

Ash grimaces at the thought, she used to love school, and maybe she still does, but right here, right now, she couldn’t think of anything she wanted to do less.

Except, maybe, run into hunters; that is something she _definitely_ doesn’t want to—

Ash jolts as her phone buzzes in her back pocket.

_Stiles: ‘Any chance you work today?’_

Ash narrows her eyes in thought.

_Ash: ‘Maybe, why?’_

She stares down at her phone, waiting for those three dots to finally reveal his message. The sound of Lisa snorting though, breaks her concentration and Ash’s head snaps up to stare at him.

“What?”

His face slowly morphs into a Cheshire-like smirk; creepy and mocking, “Is that jeep-boy?”

Ash chokes, “…what?”

_…what._

Lisa throws his head back laughing before putting his coffee cup down, “I don’t know who it is obviously, but I could hear that rust bucket four blocks away, so I get up to see who it is and maybe take a tire iron to their crappy paint job— and y’know what I see?” his brows raise as he looks at her.

Ash swallows and opens her mouth, “Uh…” she’s honestly got nothing to say to that and Lisa knows it.

His smirk widens, “A sweet, young, _roommate-shaped_ girl climbing out of the passenger seat with the biggest grin I have ever seen stretched across their face.”

_I was smiling?_

Ash freezes and Lisa’s face softens, “Happy is a good a look on you, Ash—” he pauses, his gaze trailing over her face, “I didn’t think I would ever see it and I’m happy I get the chance to,” his head cocks to the side and his face brightens so suddenly that Ash is a little creeped out, “but if jeep-boy breaks your heart, I’ll break his face, ‘kay?” Lisa chirps before strolling out the kitchen, Cloud follows after him with a parting yip of agreement.

_Stiles: Scott just got back from visiting his abuela, I want you to meet him._

Ash looks at his message and she already knows what she’s going to do. She sighs and stares forlornly at her new laptop on the island counter, there goes her day off.

_Ash: yeah, I work the lunch shift today._

She closes the chat and opens another labeled ‘Mary’ hopefully Mary will be willing to switch shifts with her.

* * *

  
_~.~_

_“What if I'm tryin', but then I close my eyes_   
_And then I'm right back, lost in that last goodbye?_   
_And what if time doesn't do what it's supposed to do?_   
_What if I never get over you?”_

_~.~_

_—Lady Antebellum, ‘What If I Never Get Over You'_

* * *


End file.
